


The Day of the Pyre

by coplins



Series: Packrunners [50]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Kinda? I'm calling it bashing but for once I'm trying to keep that character close to canon), (Or rather the discussion thereof), Alcohol, Betas, Character Bashing, Dancing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Packs, Phone Calls & Telephones, Public Sex, References to Drugs, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Unflattering portrayal of Chuck Shurley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-22 13:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins
Summary: A hurricane prevents Marlon and Dick from coming home today as planned, which sucks because Dean had planned to spend the day with Dick and now he's going to be alone. Dick tells Dean to head to the slums since it's the day of the Pyre, and he'd wanted to show how it's celebrated there. When Marlon urges him on too, Dean takes his recommendation to heart.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Other(s)
Series: Packrunners [50]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/896610
Comments: 56
Kudos: 95





	1. The Suggestion

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, a huge thank you to my awesome Betas Lisa and Melina! <3
> 
> This takes place after the pack meeting. I don't know how long exactly. A month or a couple of weeks, perhaps? 
> 
> Tags may change.

* * *

Dean's alone in the shared office. It's a holiday, and only a few workers came in to HQ, those who have something that needs to be done regardless of the day. Here at Sales and Acquisitions, Dean and Bartholomew are the only ones. Dean's only covering for Arnold so he can be with his family, and Bartholomew has point on the assignment. None of them would be working if the assholes whose company they want to butcher hadn't insisted on a meeting today. Dean's passing time while waiting for the meeting by talking to Dick on his phone through a video call. 

"I'm sorry, dear, we won't be able to make it home today. All the planes are grounded due to the hurricane."

Dean frowns worriedly at the image of Dick on his phone. "But are you safe?"

Marlon leans into the picture. "We're fine, sweetheart. We simply don't know when it will be safe to travel again."

Dean bites his lip. "Yeah, I'd rather have you safe than have you put yourselves at risk trying to get home to me." His idea to pair the two of them up to work together has proven to be a stroke of genius. Dick's dived into his new role with absolute glee. He isn't quite as comfortable using his red flare as Luci, but even that is starting to take hold. Both Luci and Marlon are coaching him as to how best take advantage of his asset, and Dick enjoys the power it brings, even if he's one to favour stealth in general.

"The Teyshas have a safehouse for occasions like this, and have invited us to stay for as long as we need to," Dick says. "But I'm truly regretting not being with you today as planned. It's the day of the Pyre, and I've been looking forward to showing you how we celebrate in my old neighborhood."

"You should go. The slums are never safer than during the Pyrefest. Get yourself drunk, dance and have fun. Find yourself a knot or five. I know you like that, and it's quite an experience to be in the slums on this day," Marlon encourages.

"Yeah? You're not gonna have a problem if I fuck around?" 

"I might. But it'll be my problem, not yours. And I will remind myself that I'm not going to lose you just because you sleep with a strange Alpha. Don't worry about me. Go out. Have fun."

Marlon would probably not have been quite as magnanimous if he didn’t know Sasha was in Louisiana having assigned himself to the security detail for Raff’s business trip. The company gets threats often, and Sasha and his men vet them thoroughly. It's nothing to get worked up about. Only, this time Sasha had calmly informed Raff that he'd be travelling with a 10 person security entourage that Sasha himself would lead. Sasha had also sent a contingency ahead. Dean isn't overly worried… He trusts Sash to know what he's doing. After all, Raff has combat training, Sasha’s men are elite soldiers and Sash has _hundreds_ of fucking years handling shit like that.

Dean talks with Dick and Marlon a while longer before hanging up. He decides to go to the slums and check out the celebration. Back in Kansas they celebrate this day too, but it's called Remembrance Day, and it's a somber and melancholy day when you fast, light salted bonfires and burn letters or talk to your lost loved ones through the fires. Dean doesn't do Remembrance Day. He doesn't have to since he writes Cas weekly and mom bi-yearly.

The Day of the Pyre or Remembrance Day is a fairly new holiday that started at the end of the Union Wars― 

!!!

Dean's brain screeches to a halt. He fishes out his phone from the pocket where he just put it away and makes another video call. It's his new favourite thing since he discovered that it's something that you can do.

Carter answers almost immediately, sitting in the big kitchen at the estate. Marlon's assessment of the Conservative Aristocrat's looks, is on point. He has a few extra pounds but beauty like his doesn't fade with some roundness to the cheeks. Although, Dean might not have thought that if he didn't know how awesome Carter smells, taking his beauty to another level.

"Master Winchester, how may I be of service?" Carter asks in a tone that says 'Why the fuck are you bothering me?' He talks like an Aristocrat. It blows Dean's mind that the Williams boys grew up regarding the former officer as a common gardener. There’s nothing common about him.

"Heya, Carter!" Dean chirps.

"It's Red these days, Sir," Carter reminds him.

Dean sniggers. "Funny, that. It's like Papa insisting I should call him _Marlon_. And yet…" he lets the sentence hang meaningfully and winks.

Carter's upper lip pulls up in a barely withheld sneer, then his expression shifts to one of careful curiosity. "He really lets you call him 'Papa'?"

Dean grins. "Lets me? It's called 'defeat', Carter, better get used to it."

Carter looks thoughtful for a beat before he chuckles. "You're strikingly alike his true mate."

"Chuck?" Dean asks in bemusement.

This time Carter doesn't withhold his contempt. "Hardly, Sir. I didn't say Truemate, I said _true_ mate. Soulmate, if you will. The one who brought him _actual_ happiness instead of dragging misery to his doorstep."

"Arvid?" Dean asks hopefully. Sasha might not think so, but Dean has Marlon's description to go on. Arvid is someone Dean has no objection to being alike. He’s developed a fan-like admiration for the former mercenary, and mourns that he’ll never have the chance to meet him in person.

"The one and only. Arvid was a competent, chaotic menace who held Master Marlon entranced until the day he died. He too was prone to assign names as he pleased."

"Yeah? He never stopped calling you Carter either, huh? Can't blame him, it's a good name. Hey, so, I didn't call to discuss names. Today is the day of the Pyre."

"I'm well aware, Sir."

"Is it connected to the Reckoning?"

Carter sighs but doesn’t bother trying to worm his way out of answering like he had when Dean made his unannounced visit. He’s learned the futility of that by now. "The Reckoning happened the day before. Today is the day we burned the bodies of all the victims."

"Hah! I knew it!" It's not the official reason for the holiday, but now that he knows the Union wars didn’t have a set end-date it was the most logical conclusion.

"Congratulations," Carter drones dryly.

"I'm going to celebrate in the slums. You and Naomi wanna come?"

Carter makes a face of disgust. "With all due respect, Sir, why would we want to go to a hedonistic shitfest for the plebeians?"

Hedonistic? That sounds great to Dean. "I dunno. I've never been there. Figured it might be fun to do something together."

"The whole Master and Sir thing falls on deaf ears while I'm speaking to him," Carter complains to himself before looking back at Dean. "The answer is no. Sir."

"Am I talking to the wrong person? Should I be talking to your mate?" Dean jokes. They're Conservatives which means Carter holds the upper hand in their mateship, but Naomi is a rock. She holds the highest position amongst the servants. It seems like Carter and Naomi have an equal mateship, but Dean's not sure about their dynamics yet.

"If you wish to become accustomed to defeat, be my guest,” Carter answers. “Why did you bother calling me to begin with, if you planned to pester her as well?"

"Alpha eye-candy, man. You’re one fine looking specimen," Dean grins. It’s 100% true.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Master,” Carter deadpans dryly. “It might have, if you were naked. But, alas," he adds jokingly.

Dean puts down the phone on his desk and swiftly gets out of his clothes before picking it up again with a shiteating grin, holding the phone at a high angle, away from himself while he's standing up so Carter can see him in all his glory. Carter's expression remains unimpressed, but his cheeks turn an incriminating shade of red. Conservatives are funny that way. Show a little skin and they get flustered. "So, handsome, impressive Alpha, why don't you get your mate and come celebrate the day of the Pyre with me, please?"

Carter opens his mouth to answer but his eyes flick to a point behind Dean at the same time as Dean hears the office door open. 

"Pardon me. I didn't realize you were talking to one of your mates," Bartholomew says.

Dean looks over his shoulder at his boss. "I'm not."

Bartholomew frowns in annoyance. "In that case, this is a workplace, and I expect you to cover up.”

Dean lets his fur grow all over as soon the words are out of Bartholomew’s mouth. Bartholomew’s face goes blank for a beat before he bends his neck and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“No? Like this?” Dean concentrates really hard to withdraw the fur from his head, neck, hands, feet, and, the hardest part - a belt line around his waist. He’s getting scarily good at controlling how he pelts. It’s easier to pelt partially if you can see where you’re pelting, or, even better, touch it. But Dean’s spent hours and hours in front of a mirror pelting, unpelting, pelting partially. It’s fast work if he doesn’t shift anything else. By now he can envision what he wants in his mind, and only pelts or unpelts those parts he concentrates on.

Bartholomew sighs and gives him a tired look. Dean reverts back to fully naked with a grin. "I never thought I'd have to give this instruction to an employee, but I expect you to be clothed at the meeting. That's an order," Bartholomew says.

"Aw, come on," Dean says as Bartholomew starts turning away to leave. "You like me naked," he says.

Bartholomew stops and turns to look at him again. This time he lets his eyes soak in the view, gaze trailing over Dean's shoulders, caressing the dip of his spine and the curves of his ass, appreciating the bowed legs. When he looks up to meet Dean's gaze, his lips are hooked in a faint smirk. For the briefest moment his eyes flare bright―telling Dean without words that, yes, yes, indeed, he likes the sight―before he leaves the office closing the door behind him. Bartholomew might be a Prog, but he'll never be stunted. He's much too pragmatic to lose the ability to speak a language used by the lion's share of the population.

"Was that your superior, Master?" Carter asks, drawing Dean's attention back to him.

"Yeah. I make his life interesting." Dean goes around his desk and sits down. He puts his feet up on his desk, and rests the bottom of his phone just above his dick to create the point of view Carter would have if he were giving Dean a BJ.

"I'd say," Carter says dryly. "Are you lovers?"

"Nah. He's afraid he’ll get fired if he touches me," Dean doesn't quite lie. "Although, I've let my mates know that I'd let their mating bonds fade if they pull shit like that."

"You'd leave your mates if they disallowed infidelity?"

Dean scoffs. "No, jackass. I'd leave my mates if they try to force me to stay in a relationship by threatening repercussions against my friends and the people I care about. Infidelity is a Conservative notion that entails lying and creeping around. Me and my mates have open and honest conversations about sex with others to prevent jealousy and bullshit. Papa and Luci are the only ones who have a problem with me doing the dirty with others. Luci even gets jealous of his brothers if he's having a bad day. But I offered to never take outpack lovers if he did the same. He didn't want to be knotblocked, so I'm free to canoodle with who I want. And today, Papa even told me to go out and find a knot or five, since I'm alone and they're stuck in fucking Texas weathering a hurricane."

The faint line of disapproval between Carter’s eyebrows smooths out. "Very well, Sir. I shall spare my judgment."

Dean huffs, then smirks with teethed canines. Bartholomew might not have allowed his eyes to roam until Dean gave him the invitation, but he can tell Carter’s not waiting for an offer. His eyes are aimed quite a bit lower than Dean’s face, and that telling blush hasn’t gone away either. "So what do you say, Alpha? Take your mate and come out with me so I don't have to be lonely? Please, Alpha?" He elongates his fangs to a full drop, flares and smiles shyly through his lashes the way Conservatives like it. They also have a thing for being referred to as 'Alpha', something Dean frequently makes use of at work. When he’s meeting with a group of strict Conservative Alphas, he singles out one or two, and refers to them exclusively by their gender while he calls everyone else by their names. It fucks with the power dynamics in the group to his advantage.

Carter is about to answer when another voice to the side of him says, "What's got you aroused, sweetheart?" Then, perplexed, "Are you watching pornography on your phone?"

Carter turns even redder. "I'm afraid I'll get into trouble if I answer yes, darling." 

Dean can't help but to snigger.

Naomi's face pops into frame by Carter's shoulder. "Oh. Master Dean," she says with a surprised smile. "Are you naked?" she asks in bemusement with her next breath. "At… work?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean answers with a grin. "Your mate said flattery would get me nowhere. Except perhaps if I was naked. Naturally, that meant, _ta-daa_," he says and lifts the phone to hold it high over himself to give Naomi a full view before lowering the camera again. 

Naomi smiles and shakes her head. Carter says, "He has no shame. His boss walked in on him and told him to cover up. You know what he did? _He pelted_."

"Yup. I'm a furry," Dean beams proudly. "But it's not true that I don't have shame. I hurt someone I care for unintentionally, you can bet your ass I'm gonna be ashamed of it. But this?" He makes a sweeping gesture towards his body. "Nuh-uh."

"Well. You certainly got my old Red fired up," Naomi tells him, amused. 

Carter side-eyes her with a displeased quirk to his lips. "That was unnecessary information to share with the Master, honey."

"Nonsense. The young buck deserves to know."

"He's not getting in trouble for it, is he, ma'am? Cuz I'm pretty sure he was joking. And he told me when we met that only one O would ever know the feel of his knot, and that's you, his mate. I have no intention of coming between you. Heh. Unless I'm _actually_ between you, if you get what I'm sayin'?” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully. “But I suspect Papa would like to be part of the equation if that should ever happen. He loves you both."

Naomi plucks the phone out of Carter's hand and sits down across his lap so he’s no longer within view. Her eyes spark with amusement. "No, Sir. My mate isn't in trouble because of your actions," she says, willfully ignoring the second half of Dean’s statement.

"Good. Are he and Papa still lovers?"

Naomi tilts her head curiously in a way that reminds Dean of Cas. "You really call Master Marlon 'Papa'?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And he doesn't protest?"

Dean chuckles. "Not anymore, he ain't."

Naomi huffs a little laugh. "I'll be darned. And to answer your question, yes. Occasionally. Once or twice a year perhaps."

"By all means, speak of me as if I wasn't present," Carter's disembodied voice complains.

Naomi turns her head in his direction. "We are, sweetie," then looks back at Dean. "If it's something you mind, Sir, let them know. My mate is a man of honour."

"No, ma'am. Papa needs all the lovin' he can get. Makes me mighty happy to know some relationships have lasted him through decades. You don't mind?"

Naomi shakes her head. "No, Sir. Now, what was it you wanted from Red that flattery alone wouldn’t get you?”

“Your company, ma’am. Papa recommended I go see how the day of the Pyre is celebrated in the slums. I’ve never been there for the Pyrefest but I was told that it’s the safest day to visit. I asked if you two wanted to accompany me? Get to know each other better now that we’re practically family.”

"That's a very sweet thought, Sir, and we appreciate the invite. But, unless it's an order, we'd like to decline. The day of the Pyre holds a certain meaning to us―"

"Because of your involvement in the Reckoning?"

Naomi looks faintly relieved. "Oh, that's right. I forgot you know the truth. Yes, Sir. There were so many people erased from history in the aftermath. Not only the people killed in the Reckoning, but in the years prior too. So we take this day every year to remember those who paid the price for the unified, peaceful future we have now. It's a day of penance, if you will. The Pyrefest in the slums is, in contrast, a celebration of life."

"Why is that?" Dean asks rhetorically, not expecting an answer.

But Naomi gives him one anyway. "It's no mystery, Sir. The slums are where the refugees ended up for the most part. People who'd been in the camps, who’d lost homes and families. The day after the Reckoning, we burned the dead Aristocrats, and the people in the slums saw an end to their persecution. Their enemies were dead and burned, and they were still alive. They still live in misery, and they mourn lost loved ones year round, so to make this day stand out for them, they turned it into a celebration of victory, hope, and gratefulness to be alive."

"Huh. That makes sense. Maybe we could get together another day, the three of us, ma’am? I promise I'll keep my clothes on unless I'm asked to remove them."

"That would be lovely, Master Dean. I appreciate your wish to bond. Master Marlon's last mate wasn't so willing to share any of Master Marlon's affections with us, nor give his own."

"Yeah? I'm gonna have to ask you about that the next time we meet in person, ma'am. But I gotta go now. My boss will have my hide if I show up to the meeting naked."

Dean exchanges a few more pleasantries before hanging up. He can't quite pin the pair down. Carter is a standoffish (Hot!) sourpuss that watches him like he's expecting a knife in his back, and Naomi is a correct, motherly O, who seems like she'd disapprove of someone like Dean, but takes him in good stride, unfazed by his antics. Both of them smell awesome and have a bond to Marlon that makes Dean itch to cement a pack bond. In Dean's eyes, Naomi is the Main of their cell. Technically below him in rank, yet an equal.

He hasn’t yet had the chance to properly meet the other Conservatives on the estate. He's only exchanged a few words with each. Most seem okay, but there are two he wants off the property. He hasn't said anything about it yet. They deserve to be known by him first, as first impressions could be wrong. As is, when the time comes and he gets pregnant, he wouldn't want them near his cub― Kit! Kit, damnit!

Dean curses his Sasha-speak slip-up. Sometimes, it annoys him how easily he adopts other people's ways of expressing themselves. Only yesterday, Sam gave him shit for sounding like a New Yorker. When he came back from his visit to the estate, Sam gave him shit for sounding like an Aristocrat. Which is dumb and untrue. Dean had spent most of the day with Carter, squeezing him for details about the civil war, comparing his tidbits to Marlon’s story. Carter thinks he sounds like a, what was the word? "Plebeian". Not that he said as much. But Dean's not dumb. He can tell. 

Dean gets dressed and prepares for the meeting.

* * *


	2. The Pyrefest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wanders around being his hedonistic, happy and curious self, meeting new people, coming across a to him, new designation.

* * *

After failing to convince Bartholomew to join him on his trip to the slums (he has a date, which Dean accepts is a good excuse), Dean heads there on his own. First, he withdraws a large amount of cash from the ATM, then stops at home to leave his credit cards, before hailing a cab to take him to his destination. He isn't prepared for the changes to the otherwise drab area. Everywhere there are colourful decorations. People have hung rugs, tapestries, sheets, or colourful papers from every window. There are musicians, theatre troupes and performers on every street corner, along with market stalls and vendors, temporary dance floors and bars. And people everywhere. Happy people drinking, eating, sharing, and _fucking_. It's not just polite knottings. No, it’s actual sex the way it was meant to be, in Dean’s opinion. Designational conduct seems to be completely disregarded. 

Dean wanders aimlessly, stopping at vendors to buy trinkets, treats, and food, most of which he gives to random strangers who smell like they need it. He gets a drink at every outdoor bar, sometimes buying a round for everyone there, sometimes having a drink bought for him by someone else.

He's in line to buy some strange but delicious smelling street food, when the guy in front of him in line turns around with two servings. He offers one to Dean, flares an enchanting cornflower blue, teethes his canines and deep-purrs. He has a wooden pendant of the Star on a leather string around his neck, and he smells mated. He also smells pleasant and prosperous. Usually, when a mated Conservative courts him, Dean asks what their mate thinks of them fooling around. That's not a question he asks a mated Primal, but then he trusts them to be on the same level as their mate. Conservatives are another matter. He fucking hates when a Conservative answers "She doesn't have to know."

Now, though, he trusts this Alpha, having seen his total disregard for the exuberant sex happening all around them. He takes the offered food, flares and tilts his neck to invite a scenting.

After having scented each other, the Alpha pulls him along with a loose grip on his wrist until they find a free bench. The Alpha keeps deep-purring while they eat. He finishes before Dean, and proceeds to lean in to mouth and lick at Dean's neck until Dean is hard and leaking slick. "You got condoms?" Dean asks, having thrown the paper plate in the trash can beside the bench. The Alpha holds up a packet of condoms in response. That's all Dean needs. But the Alpha doesn't want a quickie. He spends a lot of time exploring Dean's body, giving an amateur but enthusiastic blowjob before he puts on the condom and enters Dean. Another Alpha approaches, giving off signals of wanting to join. Dean drops fangs and growls to chase him off. The next Alpha that approaches is chased off in a similar manner by the Alpha balls deep in Dean since he’s picked up Dean's feelings on the matter.

When they're knotted together, Dean on his back on the bench and the Alpha straddling it, Dean's thighs over his, Dean can’t stop himself from asking, "Your mate doesn't mind?"

The Alpha smiles. "Not today." Dean really likes the blue of his flare.

"You gonna tell her?"

The Alpha chuckles and caresses Dean's chest, playing with his nipples. "She knows already."

"Yeah?"

The Alpha makes a nodding gesture to the side. "That's her."

Dean looks in the indicated direction, and spots a woman carrying three solo cups through the crowd, heading their way from an outdoor bar. She smiles when she sees the pair looking. She comes up to them and greets her mate with an affectionate temple rub. “I saw you had company, so I brought an extra drink,” she tells her mate and smiles at Dean. 

Dean grins back. “I just asked your boy if he was gonna get in trouble with the missus for this, but I guess not, huh? Proper greeting?” He pulls himself up to a sitting position, made awkward by the knotting, and offers his neck. She leans down to scent him and let him scent her back before handing him one of the solo cups. “Thanks. You wanna sit? If you’re not shy, you can sit behind me and I can keep my head on your lap,” Dean suggests. She smells as attractive as her mate. She also smells of sex and two horny Alphas who aren’t her mates. 

“Thanks, sweetie.” She walks around and sits down, letting Dean put his head in her lap after he’s taken a few sips of his drink. “You know, my mate always dreamed of getting mated to a male Omega. He wasn’t all that into girls,” she remarks and hesitantly pets Dean’s hair, looking at him as if she’s expecting him to protest the touch. Dean purrs his contentment at the petting to make her relax.

“Then I met you and fell madly in love,” the Alpha says with an adoring look at his mate. 

She smiles back at him with the same warmth.

“My brother’s the same,” Dean says. “He loves girls, but he fell in love and got mated to four male Alphas.”

“Four? Are you a Packrunner?" the Omega asks with a curious smile.

"Yes, ma'am. Hey, can I ask you something? I ain't too proud to admit I had, and still have, a lot of misconceptions about other designations. But, since I came to New York, I've discovered that a lot of what I thought I knew, is dead wrong. So I was wondering, aren't you Conservatives supposed to only be with one mate for your whole life? How does all this play into it? Isn’t your god gonna throw a hissy fit?" Dean makes a sweeping gesture to encompass all of their surroundings.

"If the One disapproves of a day to celebrate life, he isn't worthy of our worship," the Alpha says. "I won't send prayers to a god simply because he's powerful, just like I won't respect a man just because he's rich. There has to be goodness there too."

"He's right," the Omega agrees. "Three years ago, we lost everything in a house fire. We were uninsured, and all we had were the clothes on our backs and the lot our house had stood on. So we sold the lot and came to New York. Back home we celebrate Remembrance Day differently. I'll admit, we were shocked the first year we were here and the Pyrefest came around. But a friend here explained the reasoning. How hatred once festered and birth rates were low. So instead of devoting the day to remembering the dead, we celebrate life, unity, and fertility. No matter if there's one god or many, if they oppose a celebration of creation, they stand for evil. Which the One doesn't."

"We talked about it all year. What we'd like to try on a day when there are no rules to adhere to," the Alpha chimes in.

"So, my mate got to be with a male Omega, and I got to be with two Alphas at once," the Omega says with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Any chance you want to share another guy with your mate?" Dean asks the Omega. "Cuz I'm gonna be stuck here for a bit, and my pussy-licking skills could use some practice. I've only ever been with females twice before."

The mated pair look at each other with excited eyes. The way the scent of their shared arousal increases tenfold gives him the answer before either of them can open their mouths.

A wooden bench without a backrest proves to be a good place for a threesome. Dean doesn't pay attention to the spectators, aside from knowing they're there, and the Alpha growls threateningly at anyone showing interest in joining, so Dean doesn't have to. He isn't a free for all.

Afterwards they talk. The pair tells him they've been thinking about joining a Conservative pack. Technically, Dean knows they exist. That's why, at their first meeting, Raff had asked him if he was a Primal, even after knowing he was a Packrunner. Apparently, it's become more and more common. There are several reasons for that, the pair explains. Tax exemptions and shared rent of better apartments to name a few. As soon as they mention taxes, Dean wonders if this is some long-term scheme of Marlon's. Slow conversion without any force involved. It makes sense.

The pair invite him to follow them home and stay with them for the night. He thanks them for the offer, but declines and leaves them to continue partying.

He passes a stall with candy where a drove of kits wait around patiently. Most of the kits smell of malnutrition and poverty-induced ailments. He sees an Alpha stop to buy two bags of candy. He doles out the contents of one bag to the delighted kits before continuing on his way. The vendor smiles and smells of happiness at his customer's generosity.

Dean backtracks to the vendor. He’s a mated Alpha with one kit-bond. In other words, a man with a family to provide for. Dean smiles at him. "How much for all of it?"

"_All of it?_"

"Yes, Sir. I know you have a family to provide for, but I can see you'd rather hand it out to those who can't afford to buy it for themselves. I figured, I'm well off. I can afford to pay you so you can hand it out to the kits instead."

The Alpha lights up. "I don't know, Sir. The lowest I can go is…" he names a price.

Dean hands him triple that.

When he walks away, the Alpha is glossy-eyed and grinning, smelling of saline and joy. Dean sees him hand out paper bags of candy to the kits, putting a few dollars in each bag as well.

Dean moves on, feeling good about himself and life in general. A few bars later, he catches wind of an Alpha who smells fantastic. He follows his nose until he finds him at the end of the bar, talking to a couple of other people. Unlike most of the patrons, this group isn't flaring or teething their canines even when using otherwise flirty body language. Dean draws his conclusions and walks over.

He taps the Alpha on the shoulder. When the Alpha turns around, Dean grabs his hands to check for rings, then lets go to hook a finger in his collar and pull it down to see if he has a necklace with a mating token. But no.

The Alpha frowns, confused and suspicious. "You got a problem, buddy?"

Dean smiles brightly. "Nah, bro. Was just checking if you were officially spoken for. So, real talk. In case you're noseblind, I'm an Omega and I think you're hot as hell. So here's what I'm thinking. If you have any interest in getting lucky with me, you'll buy me a drink according to my designation's customs. It's a symbolic gesture to show you have enough to share, and that you wouldn't leave me high and dry if you accidentally knocked me up. I'll accept, since, you know, the whole hot as hell part. Then, I'll buy you a drink of equal value to show I have at least a partial grasp of your designation's customs, and to signal that I see us as equals. Then we'll stand here talking with your friends and flirt for a bit to see if there's any personal chemistry to go with the biological one. Then, if we click, you'll make a move and fuck me like the animal your kind accuses me of being. I'll show my respect by refraining from flaring or shifting my canines. If you pop your knot inside me, I'll gladly kiss and make out the way you guys like to do. What do you say?"

One of his friends nudges the Alpha and whispers harshly, "_Get him, James!_"

James doesn't immediately answer.

"I have it on good, Progressive authority, that I'm a great kisser," Dean coaxes and winks. "No? Shot down?" he asks when James blinks, face blank.

James breaks out of his stunned state and raises his hand to flag down the bartender. “Bartender! A shot of whiskey for my new friend,” he gestures at Dean, “and put it on my tab.” The bartender pours the drink, James takes it and turns to face Dean again. “I’d love to meet you halfway, but I can’t do the sound.”

“The sound?”

James holds out the drink to him and purrs. He isn’t purring from the breastbone tract or even his throat, but rather he’s exhaling air in a way that makes his tongue vibrate, cutting the airflow off in quick succession in the front of the mouth to create a purring sound.

Dean hiccups a little laugh and accepts the drink. “Close enough for me,” he says, utterly endeared. “I’m Dean,” he adds, remembering that names are important to Progs.

“James,” James says, and holds out his hand to shake.

Dean shakes it, asks the bartender for a whiskey for James and then pays for it before greeting the whole group properly. At first they ask him what type of work he does, wondering if he’s a photo model or maybe a Hollywood actor. Dean is vague about where he works, answering only that he works in an office. Instead, he gets engaged in a comparison of Progs and Primals. He tells them how prejudice nearly caused a rift between he and one of his best friends since they hadn’t known each other’s designations when they became friends. He makes the anecdote funny enough to draw laughter and curiosity. The gang are Betas. Only one of them has any shifting ability at all - he can flare. Barely. Most can’t hear the low frequency sounds Primals do, and none of them can make them. One of the Alphas doesn’t even have a knot. Now, _that’s_ mind blowing.

Even more shocking to find out is that they were born with their gender and every single one of them are noseblind. They don’t have glands. Dean’s mind is reeling. “What do you mean, you were born with your genders?”

“Our babies smell like Alphas and Omegas from birth,” one of them says.

“Not that we can tell,” James adds with a chuckle. “But that’s what we’ve been told.”

“But how do you know when you’re ready to have sex? I mean, that you’re developed enough?”

“We start wanting to?” one of the guys says. “And the girls get their period.”

“Their whatnow?”

Yup. Dean’s reeling, alright. Betas aren’t just stunted Progs. The only one in the group that doesn’t fall into the true Beta category is the guy that can flare. Everything else about him is stunted but since he has morph cells that aren’t completely dormant, he’s seen only as a Prog.

The talk never leaves the friendly realm, and James gets increasingly handsy until he and Dean are too busy making out to speak with the others. Eventually, they withdraw to a mostly undisturbed alley to fuck. There he discovers Betas have perks in comparison to Progs. They don’t have any problems with sucking on glands or knotting because they don’t have to worry about reigniting dormant morph cells. James tells him that’s something they only have to consider if they have a baby with someone who can shift. Then the baby might get morphic traits. Not that James seems very bothered by the thought. He’s a seventh generation stunted Prog-turned Beta. It’s not about a certain mentality to him. It’s just how he was born.

When Dean says goodbye, he’s drunk and sated, feeling like he’s had his share of good sex for the day. The sun is setting, and the people moving about now are mostly adults or older Juvies. The theater troupes have packed up for the evening, but more musical numbers have taken over their corners. There’s dancing everywhere, and the scent of arousal hangs in the air around every dance floor and plaza. Dean reflects that Dick and Marlon would love this. All this uninhibited dancing. He stops and listens to the music before moving on to the next band or singer. He thinks the later it’s become, the better the performers. It might just be the alcohol. 

He thinks he should probably get himself some more food to combat his intoxication when someone touches his arm. “Excuse me, Sir…?”

He turns around to see a young female Omega. She has the look of a Juvie still, meaning she’s fairly newly presented. She can’t be more than 16 to 18 life-years. She’s also in Heat and suffering badly from it. “How can I help you, miss?”

“My god, this is so embarrassing,” she says, squirming uncomfortably. “I want to save myself for when I meet my Alpha truemate, but, um, this is my first Heat, and I hadn't expected… it’s, it’s so hard to resist, and…”

Before Sam went to college, Dean listened to his pack explaining to Sam how being a male Omega has certain advantages when it comes to getting laid, if he’s interested in Conservative Omegas looking to save themselves for their truemates. Dean gets what the girl is trying to ask. He might have thought he was done having sex for the day, but he doesn’t mind scrapping that plan. He flares, does a half-drop of his fangs and deep-purrs like an Alpha. “I’ll help out. Come with me,” he grabs her wrist and leads her through the people to a food vendor, and orders for both of them, keeping up his deep-purr.

“I’m not really hungry,” the girl says.

“I know you ain’t, Miss. But you gotta eat. I’ll help you out after you’ve eaten.” He finds a place to sit and pulls her down in his lap, proceeding to hand feed her to make sure she eats. Judging by her scent, she lives on the brink of starvation and needs the food more than she thinks she does right now. He only manages to get a few bites of his own food down before the need to help her becomes urgent. He wishes he was as experienced at giving females pleasure as Sam probably is by now. Her slick’s leaking through her skirt and his pants. He gives her his best Alpha performance. First, with hands and mouth, then adding his dick into the equation. When the girl comes, she spasms so hard around his erection he follows her over the edge. Afterwards, he sits holding her, going soft inside of her. “You feel a bit better now?”

“Yeah,” the girl agrees, looking dazed and smelling content.

“Okay, you listen to me now. It’ll get worse again soon enough. Sex is basically the only way to relieve it. A knot will do the job most efficiently, but sex in general will help. You want to save yourself for someone special? I’ll respect that choice, but I think that’s dumb. Neither sex nor a relationship is gonna be magically perfect just because an Alpha’s scent is perfect. You’re far better off taking several boys for a test spin before you settle on one. But, if you’re determined to only let one Alpha have you, I suggest you let other Omegas help you during your Heat. It ain’t just about the knot or dick, okay? My suggestion is, find a couple of O friends and move in together. You can share the rent, and, when you’re in Heat, you’ll help each other out. Mark each other up, siphon each other, hump, rub, and eat each other out. _It helps._ And it’ll help you resist the urge to get knotted. If you get fingered by another O, ask her to coat her fingers with either her slick or secretion. Heats are as much about bonding and hormones as they are about getting knotted." He proceeds to rattle off a list of tips and instructions, including behaviour a potential mate shouldn't display no matter how good he smells, and what said behaviour could lead to. Before he goes on his way, he buys her another meal and a soda, and talks with her while she eats, just to make sure she doesn't skip the meal. 

It strikes him that he’s encouraging her to make a bachelor pack of Conservative Os, but in a way that hides the packrunning label. It’s going to be harder for an Alpha to steal her away and devalue her after a while of living that way. He has a sudden realisation that might also be part of Marlon’s long term scheming. Conservatives mate early. This girl might be a kit to parents born after the civil war. They’d know nothing of the roots of the hatred that once festered so strongly. They wouldn’t know about the Reckoning. And poverty drives them to move in together with friends. Being poor and living like a classic Conservative in the city is becoming an increasingly worse survival strategy, and, without remembering the war, it gets harder to know why they should. And maybe that’s why education costs money in any decent sized city, but is free in places like where Dean grew up. In the city, education is a way out of homelessness, just like banding together is. In Kansas, with all the abandoned villages and houses free to claim, giving people basic education is a better way to eradicate prejudice against Packrunners simply by exposing all kits to the same information and new perspectives they don’t get at home. His drunk head reels with the intricacies that would go into hatching a plan that grand. He hopes he’ll remember these thoughts when he sobers up, so he can ask Marlon about it.

Having said goodbye to the O, he gets back to enjoying the music. It's night time, and the crowd is mostly drunk by now. He is too, but gets another drink anyway.

He stands listening to a band when they sing "_I'll be your sanctuary. You can find―_" Dean stops listening. He's suddenly overcome with an intense nostalgia and longing for a time before he was even born. He wonders if The Sanctuary still exists. He wants to see the place that held such importance to Marlon, Arvid, Aiden and Laurent. He has this bone deep ache to be there, back in time, with them.

He goes in search of the night club.

* * *


	3. The Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's happy to discover that the Sanctuary still exists.

* * *

Dean asks around, aiming his questions at a certain type of shady character who looks like a slum dweller, but doesn’t smell like one, their scent too prosperous. The club still exists they tell him. 

The Sanctuary lies on a narrow, cobbled street. Two big Alphas clad in black flank an unremarkable door that's nothing more than a hole in the wall. He’s slightly disappointed that neither of them match the description of Texas Joe, but the feeling passes quickly when they step aside to let him in with a warning that there will be no mercy for anyone breaking the peace tonight.

Inside, there's a steep, narrow stone staircase leading down. The walls are whitewashed, the ceiling vaulted, and the steep staircase is lit by wall sconces.

Downstairs he can hear rock music playing. Everything is as he imagined when he opens the heavy curtains at the bottom of the stairs. The layout is as Marlon described it, with sofas, tables and armchairs in the back, a long bar at the far corner, a big stage with a live band playing in front of a dance floor. The back of the locale is cast in muted lighting, while the front is lit by neon details that wouldn’t have been there in Marlon's time. It smells of sweat, alcohol and sex.

Dean's delighted to find that a good part of the clientele are peacocks, dressed in brightly coloured clothing and cheap jewelry that reflects the lighting. Several people on the dance floor are bare chested, men and women alike, and there’s _a lot_ of sex being had in the back. Dean is a bit surprised at how uninhibited people are. Sure, he sees a couple of polite knottings, but mostly there's shameless fucking going on, like the gods intended, with several partners involved. He grabs a harried waiter going by. "Hey, is it always like this? Or just for today?"

"A bit more naked people since you don't have to worry about thieves tonight, but otherwise the same," the waiter answers and hurries on as soon as Dean lets him go.

Dean ponders it. Watching the people in here, he guesstimates that at least a third wouldn't hesitate to filch an unguarded wallet. He can't believe all of them would be devoted to unity, goodwill and peace today. What's keeping them from stealing? The "no mercy" the bouncers warned him about must have been brutally exemplified in previous years.

He makes his way across the dance floor to the bar, and flags down the bartender. When the bartender has poured the drink, he gestures for Dean to lean over the bar and offer his neck. Dean obliges and lets the bartender scent him. When the bartender has, he hands Dean the drink and says "On the house," before going to take another order.

Dean leans his back against the bar, sips his drink and surveys the people. It's hard to pick out individual scents in a crowd this large. Unlike most buildings here in the slums, the club has seen extensive renovations. Every surface is of top notch quality, and there are lights inlayed in the dance floor and along the edges of the bar. The patrons here tonight encompass every tier of the Primal ranking scale. Very few appear financially well-to-do, based on Progressive standards. But then again, maybe they’re hiding their affluence just like him? Dean's currently not wearing anything that gives away his real status. Anyone who bothers to take a second look can see he's got new, nice quality clothes and shoes. He’s wearing military boots, denim Omega pants, T-shirt and a plaid shirt with no jewelry. Upon closer inspection, they might glimpse the latest smartphone poking out of his pocket, or the thickness of his wallet, even so, neither screams 'most powerful in the city'.

He downs his drink and heads for the dance floor. The band is awesome, and he came here to feel closer to Marlon. The Patriarch spent a lot of time dancing here, so that's what Dean’s going to do. He's not a great dancer. There are a few people dancing whom the other dancers leave space for because of their sheer talent. Thankfully, there are a lot of people, like Dean, who dance with more enthusiasm than skill.

Dean gets swept up in it. He ties his shirt around his waist and removes his T-shirt to shove it in a back pocket when he gets too hot and sweaty. He dances alone or with anyone else who comes close, but shoots down any flirting. Drunk or not, he regularly scans the room. His gaze snags at the bar. The bartender is talking with a man wearing a serious expression, dressed in a long black leather coat hanging open over blue jeans and a grey button up. He's shorter than Dean, with a slim waist, thick neck and sloping, broad shoulders. He’s muscular, but lean, built like a fighter. His posture is proud, his gaze sharp and vigilant. Dean hopes he's an Alpha. He's in Dean's league. Dean doesn't even have to smell him to know he's looking at a high ranking predator. The bartender points in different directions from the bar, talking to the man. The man’s gaze follows in the direction the bartender points, and he nods while listening.

Then the bartender points straight at Dean. 

When the man turns his head in Dean's direction, Dean flares brightly, grins and drops full fangs as fast as he can. He winks at the man and pulls his fangs back up again. The showing off leaves his jaw aching, but he can't exactly entice the dangerous looking man with his less than stellar dance skills, and he knows how impressive his fast shifts are to both Primals and Conservatives. Sure, he told himself he was done getting laid for the day. But that was _hours_ ago. Besides, didn't Marlon say to find a knot or five? If he manages to bag himself the tough guy, it would be five sex partners. And, hey, if the guy's a Primal Alpha, that would make one Alpha from each designation, and wouldn't _that_ be a great way to celebrate unity? What other reason would the bartender have to point him out to his friend, if he wasn't pointing out hot Omegas? That's the only logical answer Dean's alcohol soaked brain can think of.

Someone deep-purrs him from behind, and Dean breaks eye contact to throw a glance at his unwanted suitor and growl a short rejection. When he looks back at the bar, the man is gone. 

Whelp. _You can't get them all, I guess_, Dean thinks to himself. It's not something he'll lose any sleep over. You get rejected, you move on. Them's the rules.

A few minutes later, someone taps him on the shoulder. He spins around to find himself eye to eye with the Alpha from the bar, this time without the leather coat. This close he smells _gorgeous_. If Dean hadn’t come across the Williams pack, he’d be seriously interested in this guy. The guy’s definitely a Packrunner. Dean can smell three mating bonds on him, as well as a slew of other close bonds to both Alphas, Omegas, Juvies and kits. A big pack. The three mating bonds themselves indicate at least a 7 member pack, but with the additional bonds, there’s at least 25-30 members. He smells very prosperous―looks it, too―even though he currently has a cold. It doesn’t detract from his overall fitness and general health. He’s easy on the eyes. Stubble, strong jaw with a little chin dimple, strong neck, light brown hair. He radiates confidence. He's high ranking and doesn’t have to prove it. Oh yes, Dean likes this guy. "Well, hello there, Alpha," Dean purrs loud enough to be heard over the music.

The Alpha smiles confidently. "You enjoying yourself?"

"Sure am!"

The Alpha eyes him uncertainly up and down, smile still in place. He isn’t dancing. "Don't take offense, but are you an Alpha or Omega?"

Dean sniggers. The cold must have killed the guy’s sense of smell. If he wasn’t noseblind before he got sick, that is. He dances a bit closer and rests his forearms on those broad, sloping shoulders. “If you’re on top, does it really matter?” he teases.

The Alpha’s lip curls up in a corner, while there’s a trace of annoyance in his scent. 

Unfortunately, Dean doesn’t get to milk the teasing as someone yet again deep-purrs him from behind. His chosen Alpha flares and growls a Primal ‘_leave space_,’ and an empty circle magically forms around them the same way other dancers leave space for the expert dancers. Dean laughs in delight. His Alpha is the shit and everyone here knows it. He likes that. And the Alpha’s blue flare is gorgeous. Almost the same colour as Mike’s. Dean dances closer, and leans in so he can talk straight by the Alpha’s ear, arms gliding around the Alpha’s neck. “I guess that answers your question, huh, Alpha?”

Instead of answering with words, the Alpha smirks and deep-purrs, slipping his arms around Dean’s waist, and finally starting to move along with the music. Dean highlights the Alpha’s face with his minty flare, giving him a toothy grin. The Alpha is a better dancer than Dean. He can feel it even though they’re dancing with no other motive than to get close. Dean’s on board with that. Especially when the Alpha’s hands slide down to hold his hips, guiding his movements, making them look good while getting a nice grind in. It makes Dean think of that movie Dirty Dancing, about a newly presented Conservative O, named “Baby” of all things, falling for a Primal Alpha who teaches her to dance. Dick and Mike both love that fucking movie. Dean’s got a problem believing any Conservative would call their kit “Baby”, since it’s a Prog word. Why not “Kitty”? It’s probably an attempt to cater to all designations at once. That’s not the only thing in that movie that bothers Dean to no end. Like, why the hell would a Primal Alpha be leading the dance once the O was good enough to do it? Whenever Dick and Mike watch it, they end up telling Dean to shut up or leave the room.

When it comes to dance movies, Dean likes another old flick, Grease, a lot more. It’s about a Conservative O falling for a Packrunning Alpha, which is unusual on film. She gets adopted into a pack of bachelor Os, and, at the end, the two packs merge into one. Oh, and there’s this awesome classic car they renovate. Dean saw the movie at the drive-in with Cas, and went around singing one of the movie’s songs, Greased Lightning, for weeks afterwards. 

Dean and the blue-eyed Alpha dance close together, closer and closer, until the Alpha’s shirt soaks up the sweat on Dean’s chest, and their legs are slotted together to let them grind their growing erections. Dean keeps his legs bent so he has to look up at the Alpha, it’s killer for the thighs, but it’s a non-verbal way of letting the guy feel like the big, strong Alpha he is. The Alpha never lets up his deep-purr, but when he tries to sneak his hand inside the back of Dean’s pants, Dean stops him. “Not so fast there, buddy. I know my worth. You gotta earn it.”

The Alpha huffs in amusement. “You want a drink?”

“Ah, yes. More alcohol. That’s what I need. I can still stand, and talk coherently. We can’t have that, now can we?” Dean jokes.

The Alpha chuckles. “Then do you want to get high? Uppers? Downers?”

Dean’s so startled by the offer, he stops moving and blinks confusedly at the guy.

“Whatever you want, I can get it for you,” the guy adds with a little smirk.

Dean had come here seeking Marlon’s experience, and, in hindsight, he should have expected such an offer, but he’s caught unprepared. His drunk brain has trouble making a quick decision on the matter, but finally he shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I’ve never done drugs before, and if I’m ever gonna try, it’s gonna be when I’m sober starting off, at home, surrounded by friends I trust who know what to expect and know what to do if anything goes south. But thanks for the offer. Really. I just…”

The Alpha manages to smell pleased and annoyed at the same time. “Smart choice. Hot tip, don’t bother trying it. It’s not good for you,” he says, looking sincere. His hands caress slowly up and down Dean’s sweat-slicked back. 

Dean figures the Alpha’s annoyed because he mis-guessed Dean’s needs, thus failing so far to earn the knotting they both want. "Look. Earlier this evening, I was about to get some grub to sober up. But then this Conservative O, a wisp of a girl, approached me. She was in Heat, right? Not doing well. Told me it was her first Heat, and that she wanted to save herself for her Truemate, but had trouble resisting. I bought her food and helped her alleviate her symptoms, then I went right back to drinking. Forgot to eat myself. So I want that drink you offered, but that's not what I need, if you get what I'm sayin'?"

The Alpha nods, smelling pleased. "Come with me," he bids, and frees himself to lead the way off the dance floor. He catches the bartender's attention and makes a couple of gestures. By the time they've navigated the dancers and reach the bar, the bartender sets down a plate with a burger and fries in front of Dean, promptly followed by a tall glass and a pitcher of water, and lastly, a cognac.

Dean grins at the blue eyed Alpha. "You're my kind of guy." The bartender puts a cup of tea in front of the Alpha and Dean scrunches his nose. "Except… you a tea guy? No coffee?"

The Alpha huffs in amusement, lips pulling into a crooked smirk. "Chamomile, peppermint and honey. Trying to jumpstart this," he answers and taps the bridge of his nose.

"Fair. That's a valid excuse," Dean concedes.

The Alpha turns his attention to the bartender and gestures at Dean. "Is he as pretty as he looks?"

"_Ooh_ yes," the bartender agrees with a very decisive nod.

Dean sniggers and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to rub his neck and throat, sopping up as much secretion and sweat as possible, then offers it to his chosen Alpha. “Here. If you can get your hands on a ziplock bag, it’ll keep until the cold has passed so you can have a delayed introduction. I’m much prettier than I look. Promise.”

The Alpha tweets his appreciation, and folds the handkerchief neatly while the bartender disappears, only to come back moments later, having conjured a ziplock bag. The Alpha keeps deep-purring while Dean eats, stroking his back and sides while scanning the room vigilantly and sipping his tea. 

Dean wolfs down his meal, washing it down with the water and downing his cognac. “Wow,” Dean says with a small chuckle and dries his mouth with the back of his forearm. “That was the good stuff. I shoulda savoured that one.”

“So you can tell the difference, huh?” the Alpha answers with the suggestion of a challenge in his lopsided smirk.

Dean gives him an insulted look that makes the Alpha laugh and meet the gaze of the bartender. A new glass of cognac is put in front of Dean. Dean’s lips twitch in amusement. He sniffs the tumbler and takes a small sip. This is even better than the last drink offered to him. This cognac is the brand Marlon favours, and he’s a real snob when it comes to his liquor. “Look at you, upping your game,” Dean chuckles. “Wasn’t expecting this venue to serve this quality.”

“The Sanctuary caters to every taste,” the Alpha answers, smelling pleased that Dean knew to appreciate the gesture.

Dean takes another sip and turns around so he can scan the room. His eyes snag at a corner in the far back where two guys are flaring at each other looking hostile. He scents in that direction. It’s futile with so many people around. His Alpha winds his arms around Dean’s waist from behind and rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “For a drunk man, you’re very perceptive,” the Alpha states, following Dean’s gaze just as one of the guys in the back shoves the other. Dean can see the guy that’s been shoved holding up his hands, a gesture that’s placating, but not submissive. The troublemaker isn’t backing down. He shoves the other guy again. That’s all he has time to do before three black-clad guards materialise around him, one capturing him in a chokehold from behind. The troublemaker doesn’t stand a chance. As soon as he’s passed out, two guards carry him away while the other guy thanks the third. “Yeah, well…” Dean says. “Trouble don’t stop just because I get drunk, and this ain’t my home turf.” He holds up his tumbler towards his Alpha’s head resting on his shoulder. “They say cognac helps cure colds?” he offers.

“Thanks, but it’s not true. Besides, I’m not big on alcohol.”

“Yeah? You don’t drink and you don’t do drugs,” Dean surmises. “What _do_ you do to kick back?"

The Alpha rubs his nose below Dean's ear. "I do drink occasionally. Have sex. If I want to get high I siphon."

"You should siphon me," Dean exclaims. "Maybe then you can smell me."

"Just like that, huh?" the Alpha chuckles.

"Yeah, sure. Once ain't gonna trigger a bond. Knock yourself out."

The Alpha purrs his approval, and hugs Dean even more possessively, one hand sliding up to fan out over Dean’s chest. He smells excited and pleased as he licks at Dean’s neck, tongue moving in teasing circles around the gland behind the ear until Dean shivers. The Alpha siphons, and a hint of frustration bleeds into his scent.

“Nothing, huh?” Dean asks.

“Nada,” the Alpha grumbles.

“Shame.”

The Alpha licks again, dragging teethed canines playfully down Dean's neck to bite lightly at Dean’s shoulder, causing goosebumps. He siphons again despite the futility of the action and suddenly sucks in a breath, the scent of his arousal peaking. Dean turns his head to see the Alpha blink with a startled, unfocused gaze. Dean chuckles. “Yeah. That’s how you get high.”

The Alpha frowns. “Did you lie about taking drugs? The high usually don’t hit this fast or hard.”

“Nah, bro. It’s because I’m all that, _and_ we’ve got kickass chemistry,” Dean smirks. “You should know. The better the match, the faster it hits. High rank hits you harder. It’s science.”

“Science,” his Alpha murmurs and grinds himself against Dean’s ass, still looking dazed.

Dean grins and shakes his head. He figured an older Alpha from a big pack should know by now what he himself had to discover step by step, but apparently not. Maybe the guy’s never siphoned someone who matches him as closely as Dean? Then how the fuck would he know? His chosen Alpha is still one league below the Williamses, but the fact stands that if he’d met this guy before he met them, he might have considered a mateship based on scent alone. “Hey, look. I ain’t shy, okay? If you were planning a quick fuck and run, I’m fine with doing it right here in the bar, after I’ve been to the bathroom. But if I could choose? You smell fucking awesome, man, and I wouldn’t mind some privacy so I can smell you without having to sift through a ton of other people’s scents. Plus, I’m sweating buckets and could use some fresh air.” He turns around in his Alpha’s arms to rest his hands loosely on the man’s hips and look him in the eyes. “What do you say, hot stuff? You in it for a quickie or some quality action?"

Slowly and deliberately, the Alpha leans his head forward, keeping his eyes on Dean. He carefully watches Dean's reaction as he rubs his temple on Dean's shoulder.

"That's what I'm talking about. Mark me up, babe. Want you all over me," Dean encourages.

The Alpha purrs and marks him up with confidence. "In that case, kitty, we're out of here," he says.

"That's what I like to hear," Dean purrs and takes his drink from the bar to down it. "Just gotta find a toilet first." Not that he minded too much relieving himself in porta-potties and alleys throughout the day, but if he could go to an actual toilet, that would be preferable.

His Alpha is waiting outside the bathroom when he comes out, wearing his leather coat once again, and Dean follows him up the stone stairs. "Gotta say, this place has more class than I expected. Those were some fancy-ass toilets," Dean muses. "But they smell a bit weird. Kinda like gasoline or something."

"Probably cocaine. Some idiots like to snort it, and it fucks your nose up," the Alpha says. "No drugs in powder form are allowed in the club, but people do them anyway, hiding away in the toilets."

"Huh." They go outside, and the Alpha nods a greeting to the bouncers before placing an arm around Dean's waist and leading him down the street, deep-purring. It's fully dark now, but the sky is starry and clear, and outdoor candles burn along the walls in frequent intervals. It's chilly, and Dean's overheated skin is rapidly cooling. "So you go to the Sanctuary often?" Dean asks.

The blue-eyed Alpha side-eyes him in amusement. "Yes. How about you? Are you new to the area? I know you've never been at the Sanctuary before."

Dean sniggers. "Now, that's a confident statement. Nah, man. I wouldn't say I'm new to the area. When I moved to New York, I moved into a better neighborhood than this, but I often came here to forage. And I go to any of the markets here often enough. But you're right. I've never been to the Sanctuary before. How'd you know? The bartender tell you?" he says, letting go of the Alpha only long enough to put on his T-shirt and over-shirt. Then he puts his arm back around his Alpha's waist.

"Something like that," the Alpha agrees. "You were pointed out to me as either trouble or the opposite of it."

Dean throws his head back laughing. "Fuck yeah. I like that description. No in between. Yeah, I can get behind that. I like people, man. But mess with people I care about, and I'll end you." Dean swings around and grabs his own wrist behind the Alpha's strong neck, walking backwards grinning at him. "Don't worry about it, Alpha. For you, I'll be the opposite of trouble. I went to the Sanctuary tonight to celebrate history and chase a few ghosts. I dunno if you know it, but that club has been around for ages. And back, like, 60, 65 years ago, some really powerful friendships were formed there. Without those friendships, we wouldn’t be celebrating Pyrefest today. They’re the reason any of us are alive at all. Specifically, four of those people have come to mean a lot to me. Only one of them is still alive, but I wanted to come here to get closer to all of ‘em, you know? They're fucking heroes. I just wanted to see where it all began, walk in their footsteps kinda, and get to know them. " Dean chuckles self-consciously. "Sounds crazy, huh?"

The Alpha smiles bemusedly, his hands on Dean's hips keeping them steady as Dean keeps walking backwards. "Not at all. These people… anyone I might have heard of?"

"Yeah, sure. If you're local you might know who they were. Laurent Hale, Arvid Mattson, Aid―"

The Alpha's scent is suddenly doing complicated things that Dean can't interpret, but then it quickly morphs to anger when someone interrupts Dean. 

"Hey, sweetheart. Why are you wasting your time with that lunatic, when you can be with a real Alpha like me?"

Dean's Alpha lets go of him and steps in front of him, shielding him, his flare winking out as he faces the intruder. His fury is strong enough to make Dean sneeze twice, but the Alpha's body language doesn't reflect the anger. "A former lunatic. I'm much healthier now," he tells the intruding Alpha, his expression coy, filled with fake sincerity and barely concealed derision.

The other Alpha scoffs. "Once an insane mess, always an insane mess," he challenges and steps closer.

Dean shoulders his way between the two, the flat of his palms pressing against their chests, the gesture more symbolic than forceful. He smiles broadly. "Fellas. _Fellas_. It's the night of the Pyre. Today is all about unity and peace." He turns to face the new Alpha. Both Alphas look to be of the same age, between 40 and 50 life-years. Dean scents discreetly. The new Alpha smells of two mates and several other strong bonds. Another Packrunner since no Conservative ever takes multiple mates. How the fuck did Dean manage to live here for so long without finding Packrunners when he's found two confirmed ones in one night? Of course, he'd only be able to smell Packrunners who had several mates. The new Alpha is shorter than Dean, but taller than the blue-eyed Alpha. Both Alphas weigh about the same, but the new guy doesn't look as fit and he lacks the toned muscles that likely make Dean’s Alpha the better fighter. "Look, we don't want no trouble, okay? It's the Pyrefest. That means, today, we are one." Dean steps closer and drops his smile. "But, if I see you tomorrow, you’re dead." The Alpha's eyes widen in surprise and he looks like he's about to say something in protest, but Dean keeps talking. "What's your excuse, huh? Are you noseblind? Is that it? You break the peace of the Pyre to provoke another Alpha who any other day would skin you alive and sell you for fucking leather."

"I―"

"No. You fling insults at him, and you disrespect me by implying that I'd settle for someone like you without you lifting a finger to earn my attention. When you insult my Alpha, you’re insulting me. And you think I’m gonna stand for it? Thank you for it, even? Seriously? You have nothing on either of us. You smell of chronic stress and bad eating habits. You have the muscle tone of an accountant, and clearly the wits of a fucking slug. You a New Yorker? Cuz I swore to myself I wouldn't do politics today, but I'm making a mental note of this. I ain't tolerating this shit in _my_ territory, and you're not drunk enough to blame alcohol for breaking the peace." Dean throws a look over his shoulder at his blue-eyed Alpha. "You know this fucker's name?" His Alpha nods. "Good." Dean looks back at the intruder and smiles, teething his canines. "I'll be seeing you on Wednesday. You better come up with a good excuse by then, for harassing us and breaking the Pyre-peace. Now, you may be on your way." He makes a shooing motion. Behind him he smells excitement. His display has turned his Alpha on.

The strange Alpha backs away with a sneer that doesn't match how he licks his lips in submission. "Hah! How are you planning to find me? He doesn't know. I don't live in the area. You don't know who you're messing with," he puffs himself up. 

"True," Dean concedes. "But that goes both ways, doesn’t it?" he adds with a charming and amused smile that he also hopes is fucking terrifying.

"You two fucking deserve each other," the guy sneers before turning to briskly walk away.

"Yeah, we do," Dean agrees and turns to his Alpha with a serious face. "Who is he and what's the name of his pack?" he demands.

"Archibald Roth, Patriarch of the Scorpios."

Dean sniggers, good mood returning just as quickly as it had soured. “Gotcha. Putting Scorpios on my shitlist to be dealt with.”

“You don’t know what that was about,” the Alpha points out, amused.

“Don’t need to. I’ll find out on Wednesday. Unless you feel like spilling, I ain’t doing politics tonight.”

The Alpha shakes his head with a bemused smirk. “You think _I_ need to justify myself?”

It’s Dean’s turn to shake his head. It doesn’t matter. Even if Blue-Eye has done something terrible to Archibald, Archibald dragged Dean into it, and tried to spark a fight on a night when the whole slums has done its best to avoid conflict. Blue-eye has done everything right by Dean, Archibald led in with an insult. Frankly, Dean doesn’t need more than that. He winds his arms around the Alpha and backs him up until they hit a wall, changing the subject by mouthing at the Alpha’s neck, tasting him. “You know I’d decided I’d had enough sex for the day? But then I saw you. I didn’t even have to smell you to change my mind about that. Then your scent matches your look? It can’t really get any better. So, where are we going? I’ve had my fresh air, and there’s nobody around.”

The Alpha closes his eyes, groans in pleasure at what Dean's mouth is doing, and tips his head back to the wall, offering better access. "As Roth just proved, we're not in private. I have a special place in mind for us." Suddenly, he gives Dean a light shove and opens his eyes, once again flaring brightly. "Come on, before I change my mind and mount you on the spot."

Deep-purring, he pushes away from the wall and drags the laughing Dean along, turning into a narrow alley.

They're heading deeper into the slums, towards parts where Dean's never been.

* * *


	4. Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean lets his chosen Alpha take him to three locations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case some of y'all never watched Teen Wolf and therefore didn't recognised the man in the gif in the last chapter - it's Peter Hale. :)
> 
> A big thank you to both my betas, Lisa and Melina! 
> 
> You might have to wait for a couple of days for the next chapter or the chapter after that. I should be sitting on them longer between posting, but I love waking up to see I've got comments. ^^  
It didn't even cross my mind that the last chapter might have made you worry. I'm so in tune with Dean's happy-go-lucky mood right now it's even affecting my real mood.

* * *

In this area, Dean smells a couple of markings by Blue-Eye's pack. The scent marking is unmistakable, the work of several bonded individuals, just like he and Sam had marked the block around Benny’s apartment. The main difference being Sam’s scent was so similar to Dean’s that only a very talented nose could discern the markings were from two separate individuals. Whoever left the markings Dean’s smelling now are bonded, but not related to each other.

The houses around here are in better shape than the rest of the slums, which is actually the reason Dean's never been here. When there's little decay and the streets are kept clean, there’s not much to forage or scavenge. He chuckles to himself. If he'd been less focused on stocking up his fridge and cupboards, he might have found them his first fucking week in New York. 

"What?" his Alpha asks when Dean bends his neck and shakes his head in self-deprecating amusement.

"Sorry, I just…" Dean stops and frees himself. "Okay, I know I'm being silly since you're here with me, but I gotta do this or I'd hear dad in the back of my mind, chewing me out," he says and backtracks to the latest marking they passed. He crouches down beside it and throws a glance behind him to see the Alpha looking. "I don't think this is the perimeter, so I hope you’ll forgive me for not going back to find it," he says as he coats a finger with secretion from his neck. Because the Alpha is currently noseblind, Dean makes his actions obvious. He holds a hand below the lowest point of the pack marking, then measures two hands down before adding a small marking of his own. He doesn't need to use his hand for measurement, but this way the Alpha can see the respectful intent. It's an introduction and an acknowledgement of their territory. Back in Kansas, if Dean had found a marking like that in Winchester territory, he'd have kept an eye out for the person who'd made the mark to see if they were wanting a meeting or only respectfully indicating their presence in claimed land. Placement of a visitor’s mark, in relation to the pack marking, carried different meanings. But, usually, a guest left their scent at a perimeter marking when they entered pack territory. Back home, except for Progs, everyone adhered to the custom. Here, only very high ranking individuals leave any markings at all.

"That's wholly unnecessary," the Alpha states as Dean comes back to him.

"Yeah… I know. Just paying my respect. Don't wanna piss off a Main," Dean says with a lopsided grin.

“Or a Patriarch,” Blue-Eye suggests.

Dean makes a dismissive gesture. “Nah. Patriarchs are sweet and easy to handle,” he jokes. That’s not even in the near vicinity of truth.

The Alpha sniggers like Dean’s a lot funnier than he is.

Blue-Eye takes him to a building that is one storey higher than the surrounding ones; five, instead of the three or four that is common in the older parts of the city. There he stops. "We're here. We just need to go up there," he says and points to the roof.

Dean frowns uncertainly at the roof. "Up there?"

The Alpha turns towards him and cups Dean’s face in his hands. "You have the face of an angel, kitty. I want to take you to heaven."

Dean manages to remain serious for about three seconds before he bursts out laughing. "_Man_, that's cheesy."

His Alpha smirks. "If it eases your fear, it's worth being cheesy. Though, I wasn't lying. That face of yours is a moneymaker."

"Fear? I ain't afraid of heights. But that's Hale territory."

The Alpha arches an eyebrow. "And you mean these streets aren't?"

"Yeah, no. The streets are their hunting grounds. They _want_ people moving about on the streets. Up there, they might take offense. Wait! You've got friends amongst the Hales?"

The Alpha's tilts his head, lips twitching in amusement. He puts his hands in his front pockets, thumbs pointing at his crotch as he rocks on his heels. "I do."

"Awesome. Then we should be good." Dean looks at the roof again before crouching down to unzip the side-zipper of his boots. He’s wearing standard issued tactical combat boots used by elite shifting troops. They’re specially designed for those who frequently use their clawed feet for fighting. They’re laced like any other boots, but have a zipper on the side for quick removal, and, best of all, a built in tether that can be pulled out and clipped onto the other boot for easy transportation. Dean fucking loves these boots.

"How much have you been drinking, kitty?" the Alpha asks, his expression trying and failing to conceal his mirth and bewilderment as he watches Dean.

It’s a completely irrelevant question to Dean's mind. "I dunno? I've been drinking since I got here at noon, but I only had a drink here and there, chatting with people, trying different street foods, having sex and enjoying myself. Didn't want to get smashed, if you get what I'm sayin'?" he answers, continuing to remove his socks. "You worried I'll fall off the roof?" he asks, and stuffs his socks into his boots.

"Just gauging how compromised your mental faculties are," the Alpha answers.

Dean pulls out the tether from a boot, pushing the lock device that controls the length, and clicks it into place on his other boot. “I ain’t as sharp as I am while sober, I’ll give you that. But I won’t fall. And if you’re worried about consent, don’t. No matter how drunk I get, I’m never too drunk to know whether I wanna do the do with someone.” He hangs his boots over his neck and stands up, the cobbled street cool under his bare feet.

“It wasn’t what I was thinking about. But you’re right. I usually stay away from Omegas if I can’t smell them. I made mistakes in my youth, thinking my feelings were always reciprocated when they weren’t.”

“Don’t worry about it, Alpha. Ain’t nothing gonna come outta hiding my emotions, except bad sex, hurt feelings and distrust. I wouldn’t paint over rust on a car to hide it, and I won’t keep quiet if you do something I don’t like.” Dean looks up at the roof again with misgivings. “Are you sure the Hales won’t mind? I don’t want their first impression of me to be that I’m trying to intrude on their turf,” he asks.

Blue-Eye laughs. “Yes, I’m sure. Nobody will disturb us up there. I can guarantee it.” He gives Dean the kind of fond, pitying look you give a puppy tripping over its own ears. Dean ignores it. The Alpha wouldn’t understand anyway. Dean wants to restore the old alliance to its former glory, heal the rift, and let Dick and Peter get some kind of amicable closure that, perhaps, could allow for friendship. The Hale situation is a hard nut to crack because of all the tragedy in the past, and that’s why he hasn't tackled that problem yet. “We’ll climb up along the drainpipe over there,” the Alpha goes on and points. "It's reinforced to hold several people at once. If you're uncertain you can make it, I'll climb behind you, like this." The Alpha places himself behind Dean with an arm around him, hugging him tightly. He mouths at Dean's neck, making Dean shiver. "I can carry a deadweight like this so you're completely safe. Or, if you're unsure if you can climb, you can cling to my back and I'll get you up."

Dean squeezes the arm around his midriff. "Nah, I'm good. You go ahead," he says and motions for the Alpha to climb ahead. Dean's already started shifting claws and body. He can feel his hip bones change shape as they speak. In the months since Sasha made him mindful that shifting hurts less the more he does it, Dean's become very body aware. Most likely, he's probably been instinctively shifting his hips while climbing since he was a kit, as he had always made it a point to learn to climb any obstacle in his path, no matter how much it hurt or how dangerous it was. But now that he’s learned what body parts shift during a climb, he’s made life easier for himself and improved his climbing skills by shifting before he starts making his way up. 

"Alright. I’ll show you how it’s done." The Alpha lets go of him, gives him a cocky smile, then walks towards the drainpipe.

Dean doesn't wait around. Once the Alpha’s back is turned, he moves his boots to hang on his back, the wire uncomfortable against his throat, and begins to climb straight up the wall before him without need of any drainpipe assistance, thank you very much. He's halfway up when he looks down to see the Alpha still on the ground, searching around him with a confused and troubled frown. "_Oy!_ You coming or what? You weren't just joking, were you? We _are_ going up there, aren't we?" Dean calls out to him.

The Alpha's head jerks up, eyes widening when he spots Dean, then he starts laughing. He grabs the drainpipe and swings himself up, climbing _fast_. It almost resembles the gait of a galloping horse, except he has one hand hooked around the drainpipe at all times as he propels himself upward with both feet, reaching out with his other hand for a new grip. Dean's impressed. He notes that the Alpha grips behind the drainpipe, but it looks like he's not actually touching the drainpipe itself. Curious, Dean scuttles upward, moving steadily to the side towards the drainpipe.

They reach the edge of the roof at the same time, but both stop, hanging side by side below it instead of climbing over. "Wow, you're fast! That was fucking impressive," Dean says.

"He says, perching on the wall like fucking Spiderman," the Alpha says sarcastically then cracks a smile.

"I'm serious, man, you move upward as fast as some people run on flat ground. That's awesome. But what are you holding on to?" Dean reaches out with one hand to touch the reinforcement hidden behind the pipe. It's a rough beam of some kind, perfectly sized to grip. "Dude, this is wicked. I thought the drainpipe itself was reinforced, but with this, anyone can climb up to the roof."

The Alpha laughs as if Dean's being hilarious. "Not _anyone_," he says when he's collected himself. "Nevermind fear of heights. It takes considerable arm strength to pull yourself up, and there are only footholds every 10 feet, so you're required to have technique too. Put those two together, and few people are willing to haul themselves several stories up with no safety line."

Dean looks down and spots thin steel beams bending out from the reinforcement and into the wall every 10 feet. "Huh. Fair enough.” 

They finally grab onto the ledge and pull themselves over. They walk up the sloping part of the roof onto the broad, flat section in the middle. The view is beautiful up here. Dean can see the harbour, the new shipyard rebuilt after the bombing that set the city on fire, and the bridge Marlon and Arvid walked over that fateful night. He gets stuck staring in the direction of the shipyard. He knows it’s a bit further away than the original was. He tries to imagine what it was like that night. Looking around at the houses closest to the docks on this side, Dean thinks he can guess what roof the pair had been sitting on when the bombs began to fall. For a moment, his imagination reveals to him a picture so vivid he can almost smell the fire, taste the smoke, and feel the frisson of terror in the air.

“Are you alright?” Blue-Eye asks him from behind.

“Yeah…” Dean agrees slowly. He turns around and puts his arms around his Alpha’s neck to stare deep into the blue eyes. “Thank you. I mean it,” he says gravely. He went to the Sanctuary chasing history, and the Alpha had unwittingly given him even more than he had thought possible. 

“For what exactly?” the Alpha asks with a bemused smirk.

Dean doesn’t answer. Determined to show his gratitude, he instead presses their crotches together, and bends his neck to lick and suck on the Alpha’s throat. Blue-Eye is more than willing to be distracted.

Afterwards, they lay knotted on the middle of the roof under the starry sky, Dean using one of the Alpha's arms for a pillow while the Alpha caresses his sweaty skin under his shirt. "So is this it? Is this what you wanted?" Dean asks.

"I definitely wanted this," the Alpha purrs.

Dean chuckles. "No. I mean. Is this all you wanted? Cuz I'm happy and content, and I _could_ go home. But."

"But what?"

"But I’d rather not? If you could smell how well our scents mix, you'd understand why. So what I want, is to be marked up without a stitch of clothing between us. Claim me so thoroughly that nobody who doesn’t have a prior claim on me dares to come close. I want to claim you back the same way, and take my time exploring what makes you tick. Pull an all-nighter. So I figured we could find a hotel, cuz it's starting to get a bit too cold to stay outdoors. But if you're sated and ready to call it a night...?"

The Alpha chuckles drowsily. "We don't have to find a hotel. I know just the place."

"Yeah? Awesome."

* * *

They make a 30 minute stop on the way. As they pass a club, a bouncer makes a gesture to Blue-Eye. "You mind giving me a moment? Go inside, have a drink or dance for a bit while I talk to a couple of fellows?" Blue-Eye asks Dean.

Dean scents in the direction of the club. It's got no windows, but a huge neon sign over the door, declaring the name of the club to be ‘_Heist_’. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

"This club is a bit special," Blue-Eye starts to explain.

"No teething. No flaring. Progs only. Way ahead of you, boss," Dean jokes, winking.

"You been here before?" Blue-Eye asks skeptically.

"Nah. But I can smell the scented oils and makeup from here. Don't worry about it, hot stuff. I'm practically a Prog whisperer." Dean waggles his eyebrows with a shiteating grin.

His Alpha gives him a dubious look, then shrugs. "Good. Then come on."

The bouncer holds the door open for them without a word. Inside there's a coat station, and the O tending it smiles at them. Dean can smell that she’s from the same pack as Blue-Eye. Blue-Eye leads them past her without checking in his coat. They walk through a broad corridor. The music where they're heading is so loud Dean can feel the bass pumping through the floor. At the end of the corridor there are toilets to the left, a door straight forward, and an opening covered by a clear plastic strip curtain to the right.

"You go ahead inside. I'll come get you when I'm done," Blue-Eye says and gestures for Dean to go through the strips. Dean leans in, gives him a quick kiss on the cheek since a temple rub would give him away as non-Prog, then does as he’s told.

Inside, it’s hot. He removes his plaid shirt, tying it around his waist while he looks around. The room is big, with a high ceiling. High up on a podium by the far end-wall, a DJ stands behind a mixing table. There is a long balcony spanning the whole room. Dean can spot four guards standing on it, looking down and watching the crowd as closely as possible in the darkness. The room is lit by black light, with flashes of a strobe light, and other coloured lamps blinking or fading in time with the beat. People are wearing what Dean knows as “Prog sex-party makeup”, that glows florouscent in the blacklight. But this isn’t a sex party. In fact, there’s less sex happening here than he’s seen all day. There are some couples grinding or making out while they dance, but that’s it. The club is packed with people dancing, and Dean starts moving to the rapid bass vibrating through everything as he walks onto the dance floor.

He swiftly discovers a major difference between the dancing here and the dancing at the Sanctuary or most of the outdoor dancing he’s seen today. To start with, the music is repetitive with a pumping bass―dance, trance, techno, house; Dean’s not sure what the genre is called―and the DJ mixes the songs so one fades into another without pause. It’s unlike anything Dean’s ever experienced, the people here aren’t dancing with each other, not even when they’re close enough to touch. There are no gaps left for showy dancers, no competition, no courting. The dancers are introspective, many keeping their eyes closed, dancing just for the joy of moving. With how loud the music is, Dean feels it in every cell of his body. It’s as hypnotic as any siphon high. As introspective as the dancers are, they’re all moving as one, all of them adhering to an unwritten rule requiring them to move with every bass beat, their bodies working in sync as if controlled by some hive consciousness. That conclusion is reaffirmed when the DJ suddenly stops the music for 3 seconds and everyone freezes in position, just to start moving again as soon as the music starts back up.

After dancing a few minutes, Dean’s noted that the guards on the balcony are slowly making rounds, patrolling. He’s also noted that some people move around the dance floor sporadically, briefly syncing their moves to the closest dancer before moving on to the next. Dean copies that, delighted to discover how some don’t even open their eyes as their movements fall in line with his. They just feel how close he is, put their hands on his hips or shoulders and, click, they’re moving as one.

It’s very hot on the dance floor. It smells of sweat, excitement, exertion and fatigue, contentment and joy, makeup, and an assortment of fruity and flowery oils. The fragrant oils Progs rub on themselves distort their scents so you can’t decipher exact smell of a person, but the oils don’t hide any mood swings or ailments. Only a third of the dancers smell of alcohol from what Dean can gauge as he moves around.

These Progs are putting Packrunners to shame when it comes to being one with each other, giving up individuality and conscious thought to be subsumed by the DJ’s spell.

Dean loves it.

He might have found a type of dancing that excites him as much as other kinds of dancing excite Marlon and Dick.

He spots Blue-Eye up on the balcony, making his way to one of the guards and concludes that perhaps this is a pack establishment. He briefly wonders how much they pay the Hales so they get to run a club like this in Hale territory, but then someone taps his shoulder, distracting him.

He spins to face a short, slim Alpha with colourful fluorescent face paint, bobbing in time with him to the beat of the music and smiling broadly. The ever shifting light reveals friendly and keen eyes, and Dean can scent the pack bond he shares with Blue-Eye and the coat check girl. Dean grins at him, dances closer and puts his arms around the Alpha’s neck to sync their movements. The Alpha gestures for Dean to come closer, then leans in to shout in Dean’s ear, since shouting is the only way to be heard over the loud music.

“You wanna buy some stamps?” the Alpha yells.

Dean leans away, utterly confused for a moment before he catches on. He puts his lips by the Alpha’s ear. “Stamps? You mean drugs?”

The Alpha laughs, and nods at him.

Dean bends his knees to get an arm under the guy’s ass and hoists him up. The Alpha laughingly wraps his legs around Dean’s midriff, holding his own weight up. This way, Dean doesn’t have to bend awkwardly forward to talk to the guy and they can keep dancing. Better yet, this way Dean gets the full scope of the guy’s scent―prosperous, content, some faded pain. “What drug is that?” Dean yells by his ear.

“LSD. I’ve got Ecstasy too, if you want.”

“I’m good, but thanks anyway.”

“If you change your mind, I’m moving between the dance floor and the bar.”

“There’s a bar?”

The Alpha points. Dean looks where he indicates. At first glance, he’d thought a section of the wall was simply painted with diagonal lines, but now he sees there’s light shining through, and what he thought was a wall is really just a wide opening covered with another plastic strip curtain painted with blacklight paint.

“Thanks,” Dean shouts.

The Alpha slides off him and gives him a thumbs up and a wink before dancing away in the crowd.

As Dean dances his way towards the bar, he can see the pusher talking to someone else followed by a discreet transaction.

The music is lower once Dean passes through the curtain to the bar, though he can still feel the bass beat pumping through the floor. Here, you still have to shout to be heard, but at least you can do so from a more comfortable distance. Most people standing by the bar or sitting by the few tables are still moving with the music.

Dean orders a tall glass of water, and shots for everyone in the bar, including himself. When he lifts the shot for a toast he makes a fist holding it over his head in a power gesture, and shouts, “Red P representing!”

The other patrons by the bar mimic him, parroting his toast right back at him with their fists in the air before downing their shots. It gives Dean goosebumps. These folks, most aren’t older than 30, 40 tops. They don’t know the significance of the slogan they just embraced. How their kind and Dean’s once were bound together by persecution and bloodshed. Progs and Packrunners - the red P. He can’t wait until he and Brad reveal their project to the public and give the old symbol new meaning.

He sticks around the bar for a bit, flirting and making “friends”, before the dance floor beckons once again. He goes to dance, spotting a man he recognises in the crowd. A CEO of a company the Williamses deal with regularly. He smirks to himself, noting that even if this place is nowhere near as classy as the Sanctuary, it draws very rich patrons. While dancing, he’s once again offered drugs. It’s not the same Alpha, and this one’s nervous scent makes Dean stop dancing to frown at him. The Alpha backs away, trying to melt into the crowd, but Dean dances after, keeping him in sight. This guy doesn’t have the face paint that made the other Alpha so easy to spot, but Dean got a good whiff of the man and, despite all the other scents bombarding Dean, he’s able to follow even when the guy tries to disappear. The guy spots him still watching and heads for the exit.

When the guy’s gone, Dean goes back to dancing until Blue-Eye comes to retrieve him.

* * *

When they arrive at their new destination, Dean knows for a fact that he's not only dealing with a high ranking Alpha, but a Patriarch. Blue-Eye has taken them to an apartment building and into a large studio apartment on the top floor. It's a very nice apartment―better than Benny's―despite being located in the slums. Inside, none of the scents are fresh, meaning the apartment hasn’t been used for a while, but the outer door frame has been meticulously marked up by both the Alpha and his pack. The apartment has running water, a fridge and freezer and the cupboard is stocked. There's a combined radio and CD player, a large CD rack, and a fireplace. Aside from that, there isn’t much except a large rug, a bed big enough for four people, and two bedside tables. And mirrors. Big mirrors everywhere, even on the ceiling over the bed. That's what identifies Blue-Eye as a Patriarch. The apartment is clearly meant for this exact purpose. Many packs have places meant for guests. John used to take his "guests" to the barn. Blue-Eye has a decent size pack, but he didn't have to ask permission to come here or check in to see if it was taken by another pack member. He knew the place was free and his for the taking; hence, Patriarch.

They eat. Dean's offered a pomegranate, blue cheese, jerky and flavoured sparkling water. The Alpha conjures a bottle of fine whiskey and pours them each a small glass to savour the taste. He lets Dean know he can have as much as he wants if he wants more.

They make out naked on the bed, sucking glands and marking each other up until every inch of their bodies is covered, just like Dean wanted. Dean delights and coos appreciation over every new scar he discovers on his Alpha; the man has many of them. Blue-Eye siphons him again, chasing the high. They trade BJs, and Dean lets Blue-Eye knot his mouth while the Alpha pets his hair, husky voice murmuring filthy praise. When the knot goes down they go back at it again. 

"You sure don't hold back," the Alpha laughs at one point.

"Bro, _of course,_ I'm holding back! I don't know you yet," Dean sniggers, making the Alpha laugh even harder. Dean rolls on top of him and combs his sweat matted hair back with his fingers, grinning down on him. The Alpha has a nice set of fangs. He didn’t smell of too much pain dropping them either, so it’s something he does often. Dean traces a thin scar on the man’s temple with his fingertips, then down to the thin lines beside his eyes. He trails his fingers over tiny knicks and cuts, stroking along the Alpha’s smiling lips while the Alpha caresses his back slowly up and down. “I like you. And you’re so fucking _MrrOoo_.” There’s no spoken word for the beauty that comes from having lots of scars yet still being fit and prosperous. In English, you need at least a sentence to describe the concept, and usually you’d simply substitute pretty, handsome, or beautiful out of pure laziness. All those words fit. Having scars is a sign that you’ve made mistakes and survived them, that you’ve lived through fights and come out alive, that you’ve survived trauma and gone on to thrive. There are three sounds for it in the Primal vocabulary, each with its own nuanced definition. Dean made the most flattering of the sounds. A sound he’s murred at Marlon countless at times, since it puts the emphasis on ‘thriving’. "Hey, so what was the lunatic comment about?" Dean asks, remembering the other Patriarch he met that night.

"Lost a mate and kits," his Alpha answers lightly, eyelids heavy from a new siphon high. "Didn't take it well. Took out a brutal revenge on the responsible party. It earned me the reputation of being insane."

"_Bro_." Dean's been talking a lot to Brad on the phone lately. It's impossible not to adopt the word. "When I lost my Cas, I legit died myself for a full year. You rip apart bonds like that, you go a little kooky. But when I miscarried, I was only three weeks along so it didn't bother me. Cas got pretty sad, though. Alpha instinct and all. So how come this Roth dude couldn't sympathize with your loss?"

"He was on good standing with the responsible party."

"Huh. Well, the guy's an asshole, so he's on my shitlist now."

Blue-Eye smirks. Suddenly there’s something sly about him as he scrutinizes Dean's face. "You can siphon me, if you want," he offers.

Dean feels like throwing his head back and laughing, instantly deducing why his Alpha looks shifty. He wonders if the guy would still extend that offer if he could smell Dean? Somehow, Dean manages to withhold his mirth. "Yeah?"

"Sure. It'll give you the best high, especially if I knot you."

"Awesome. Thanks," Dean enthuses with his best acting abilities. Blue-Eye isn't wrong, though. Sex while siphoning is awesome since it's all about bonding.

When they lie spooning, knotted together afterwards, Dean's phone rings. Dean throws himself towards his pants beside the bed so fast the Alpha yelps with a burst of pain. Dean can’t reach his pants and turns his head to Blue-Eye. “Really important call. Work with me, will ya?”

Blue-Eye laughs. It’s a pained sound, but he nevertheless scoots himself closer so Dean can reach his phone.

It’s Marlon.

* * *


	5. The Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's happy to hear Marlon and Dick are safe, but he's apprehensive of Marlon's reaction to Dean's current position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't have to wait too long for this after all. :D Thanks to my two betas, Lisa and Melina, for working so fast.  
The next chapter might take a little longer. It's proving difficult to write.

* * *

“Are you alright, Papa?” Dean doesn’t even bother with hello, hanging partially over the edge of the bed while Blue-Eye keeps a grip on Dean’s hip to hold him steady. 

Marlon chuckles warmly over the line. “Yes, sweetheart. Both Richard and I are fine. I’m calling to let you know we’re greenlit to fly in an hour.” Dean wishes he would have made a video call instead, but only Dean and Gabe favoured that method.

Dean feels something relax inside that he hadn’t even known was tense before Marlon gave his assurance. “_Phew._ Thank fuck. I wasn’t _worried_ worried, but I was worried, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

Marlon chuckles again. “I do. Did you go to the celebrations like we recommended?”

“Hells yeah, I did. Oh, and I’m currently knotted by an Alpha. Just so you know.”

“Did I call at a bad time?” Marlon asks with a guarded tone.

Dean scowls. “Fuck no. Don’t be an ass. I threw myself at the phone so hard I almost yanked him out. He’s smelling of pain and laughing into the pillow now. But I wanted you to know I’m not alone, in case you hear something in the background. We’re showing all our cards, remember?”

“Ah. In that case, would you tell me about your day?” Marlon sounds relaxed again. Drunk or not, this is the first time Dean’s truly put Marlon’s jealousy to the test so openly. He’s determined to act as if nothing is out of the ordinary in hopes that Marlon will feel like it isn’t. Though, Dean’s well aware they still might fight when he gets home, no matter what Marlon said about it this morning.

“Yeah. So after we hung up, I remembered Uncle Bobby saying they celebrated Remembrance Day on another day when he was a kit, and that almost all gods had a holiday like it. So I wondered why a whole country would suddenly decide to celebrate on the same day. I mean, it’s fucking obvious. It had to be the Reckoning. It _had_ to be. So I made a video call to Carter to get it confirmed, and to try getting him and Naomi to come to the slums with me. Figured it’d be a great time to get to know them better since we’re family now, right? So Carter says no, but then he jokes and says…” Dean retells the phone conversation in broad strokes making both Alphas laugh at how he pelted when his boss told him to cover up.

"You can grow fur?" Blue-Eye asks with bemused bewilderment.

"Hold on," Dean tells Marlon before turning his head to look at Blue-Eye. "Yeah. Anyone born with fur can learn to do it," he answers and goes back to the phone conversation. “Anyway, Bartholomew had a date so I couldn’t coax him to join me either. So I withdrew a shitload of cash, went home, left my credit cards and driver’s license there, and headed for the slums. _Man_, I was not expecting what met me here! All the colours, for starters. Everything was so festive and beautiful. And performances everywhere. And the people, Papa! The people were all so happy, generous, and open-minded. Got me all inspired. I went from one market stall to another buying different knick-knacks then just ended up giving them away to people I met.”

Marlon chirps in delight at Dean’s enthusiasm. “I told you today was special,” he says. 

The Alpha behind Dean pulls him up so they can lie spooned again, the scent of pain receding. He supports his head with his palm, elbow on the bed, and caresses Dean’s side gently. Dean throws him a look over his shoulder to be met with a soft, content smile. Dean smiles back and continues talking. “Yeah, it was. And people were having sex fucking everywhere. You know, real sex. Even the Conservatives. I certainly hadn’t expected that. I went from bar to bar too. Had a beer or a drink, chatting with whoever, getting to know people. Hey, so… one thing I found a bit confusing. Progs are often afraid of us, right? You teethe a little and they expect you to rip their throats out, right? But not today. The most I got was some of them smelling a little nervous, but that’s it. Why is that?”

“Because they know violence isn’t allowed on the Day of the Pyre. They’ve learned to trust that nobody will break the peace,” Marlon answers.

“Yeah? Well the Pyrepeace is awesome. I saw a lot of people getting annoyed, but they kept their flares dim and backed away to show they didn’t want trouble. And some people would see someone from afar, and suddenly smell pissed, but then they did their very best to avoid the other. And I don’t know how many people I bumped into, accidentally spilling beer or food or whatever, but nobody got pissed. So I just bought them a new one and moved on. Is it called the Pyrepeace?”

It’s Blue-Eye who answers. “We call it the Truce, actually.”

“The Truce? Huh. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Hey, Papa, can you hear him?”

“Loud and clear,” Marlon answers with a smiling voice.

“How about you, hot stuff? You hear Papa too?” Dean asks Blue-Eye.

The Alpha shakes his head with a smile. “I can only hear your side of the conversation.”

For a second, Dean debates putting it on speaker. He decides against it. It’s alright that Blue-Eye can hear what he’s saying, but Marlon called _Dean_, and it should be his choice if he wants to be heard by the stranger. “Alright, then. So why is everyone so good at keeping the Truce?”

Marlon answers that before Blue-Eye has a chance to. “That’s the Hales’ doing. They’ve always policed the slums, but since Peter became Patriarch after the tragedy, breaking the Truce is punished with far more severity than the crime would usually dictate.”

“The Hales’ doing, huh? Well, good on them. But, like, how severe are the punishments?”

“Beatings, broken bones, public shaming at Beggar’s Square, or execution and sacrifice to the Pyre,” Marlon answers.

Dean rumbles a dark, mean laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about.” He suddenly frowns with concern. “But… like… kits can’t always keep their tempers in check…”

“_Noo_,” both Alphas say at the same time. Blue-Eye pulls himself closer and throws an arm around Dean, putting his head on Dean’s shoulder so he can look at him with a serious expression. “Kits are an exception. They still have to adhere to the Truce, but they’re still learning how to behave. They can’t be held to the same standards as adults. Even Juvies are given leniency depending on their age and the severity of the breach. Kits and Juvies alike have to be present at Beggar’s Square tomorrow if they broke the Truce, but that’s about it,” he explains. Dean can see it’s really important to him that Dean understands this. Dean gets it. The guy’s got friends among the Hales and he doesn’t want their reputation smeared. “Adults are taken into custody until tomorrow when they get their punishment on the square. For some, like the guy you saw taken in the club, they’ll get a bit roughed up then spend the day in the pillory while a news kit announces their crimes to anyone wanting to know. Others are executed and sent to the Pyre. But that’s for serious crimes, violence causing injuries, major theft, anything done intentionally that has lasting physical consequences after the Pyrefest has ended. And of course, the punishment is measured by intent and severity.”

“Like, if I fell onto a window and it broke, I’d walk free. But if I smashed it on purpose, I’d have my arms broken in front of an audience the next day?” Dean asks.

“Exactly,” Blue-Eye agrees. “Threats, like the one you uttered when you stepped between me and Roth, might get punished depending on the circumstances. _But_, since you threatened him for breaking the Truce, _and_ issued a date to take care of it after the Pyrefest, you’d go scot free even if you weren’t in my company.”

“Huh. Oh, that reminds me. Papa, do you know who Archibald Roth is? Patriarch of the Scorpios?” Dean asks Marlon.

“Yes.”

“Good. They’re on our shitlist now. If we have any deals with them, they’re off. I’m meeting them on Wednesday to determine if they’ll be allowed to stay in New York or not. Just gotta find them first. It’d be great if you knew where they live. If not, I’ll put Sasha on it.”

Marlon laughs. “Very well, son. I’ll give you their details when you get home. I must say, I delight at how well you’ve adapted to the size of our territory.”

“Bah,” Dean makes a dismissive motion. “One town is just like another, just more people here. Anyway, I was really impressed by the whole Pyrepeace so I kinda acted like a little shit, testing it.”

Blue-Eye arches an eyebrow in question.

Marlon chuckles. “I’m not surprised.” he jokes dryly. “What did you do?”

Dean grins and shifts his arm so he can pet Blue-Eye while holding the phone with the arm closest to the bed. “We’ve got thieves, robbers, and pickpockets in my old hometown too, right? I know the look of them. Ain’t nothing new. It’s how they look at you, right? So there was this guy. I knew the look. I saw him track my movements when I bought something. So I purposely dropped my money clip in front of him, pretending I didn’t notice. So he picked it up, right? I kept close but out of sight so I could watch him. I swear that man went through all the stages of grief while he was holding it,” Dean sniggers. “But then he heaved this giant sigh of defeat and went to find me to give it back. I bought him a beer in thanks, and when I went on my way I patted him on his back and let my hand slide down to put a hundred dollar bill in his back pocket. A few seconds after I left him, I saw him go all panicky tryna feel if I’d stolen something from him, and he found the bill. I could barely keep from laughing out loud at his expression. I swear to Heimdallr, the guy was the human equivalent of a question mark, it was so funny.”

Marlon cackles and Blue-Eye sniggers. “What had you planned to do if he’d kept it?” Blue-Eye asks.

“We’re stocked up to the rafters with food at home. I’m a hunter. I’d gotten a good whiff of him. I know where his home turf is. I could wait a day or two, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

“Mhm,” Blue-Eye answers with keen eyes and a smirk. He rubs his temple against Dean’s shoulder; a possessive gesture, rather than an affectionate one.

Marlon’s laughing again, and Dean couldn’t feel more content if he tried. Dean goes on to tell Marlon about people he met, the candy booth man, and the Conservative couple. “I’m telling you, Papa, Sammy might be onto something. Chicks are pretty awesome even without a knot. Like, this was only my third time doing it with females, but the whole boob-business they’ve got going on is growing on me.”

Both Marlon and Blue-Eye find it hilarious. Dean’s happy they’re laughing, but not quite sure what’s so funny about it.

“Oh, and that couple said that they’re thinking of joining a Conservative pack for tax reasons. The more I think about it, the less certain I am of how that works, since they’re so stuck up about sex?”

“It works just like it does for us, son,” Marlon says. “Except they don’t realise it before it’s too late. Most of them try bonding only through marking each other and siphoning at first, but that tends to fall apart within 5 years. The biggest difference is that, at least for the first couple of years, the Patriarch holds more power than the Main. But when we look at Conservative packs that have been living together for more than a decade, we start seeing that there’s been a shift. The more crowded their living conditions, the more their behaviors start emulating ours.”

“Huh. And how does the tax thing work? I thought we didn’t have to register our designation anymore?” If Dean had any doubts as to whether this was a scheme of Marlon’s, they’re gone now.

“We don’t, or it wouldn’t come with tax benefits. A group can register as a pack if there are three or more adults living together who share a pack bond. We can’t know if they actually share pack bonds or simply very strong friendship bonds, but, for our purposes, either will work as long as they all live together. They have to adhere to some of the most basic pack laws as well. I’ll show you the pamphlet we hand out to those who turn in applications. There are a lot of stipulations before the pack can register for the tax benefit, including a test of all adult pack members. We also send out auditors regularly, to verify no one is committing tax fraud.”

Dean frowns in thought, playing with Blue-Eye’s hair. Blue-Eye mouths ‘What’s he saying?’ but Dean ignores it. Dean’s brows smooth out. “Ooh. The paper toters! Yeah, I remember those guys back in Kansas. Brave, _brave_ men. Not only did they walk up to the house, but when we opened the door they’d try to step over the threshold.”

Marlon laughs. “It’s the fastest way to know if you’re dealing with a real pack. Saves a world of time. I’ve heard that those who’ve been at the job a long time have made a sport of it.”

Dean sniggers. “No shit. Hearing the pack alarm call and having whoever opened the door going from polite to murderous would be a huge fucking hint. They did have the speed of their submission down to an art, though.” Blue-Eye once again tries to get Dean to tell him what Marlon’s saying but Dean just shakes his head.

“Indeed,” Marlon agrees. “Are you with that couple now?”

“What? No. I…” Dean goes on to tell about food he tried, more people he talked to, and then the Betas. “...thought Betas were just like any stunted Prog, but they’re fucking _not_. I never realised the magnitude of change it takes to become a static breed. And guess what? They’re more like me than any Conservative or normal Prog. I own my senses and abilities, right? I’m a kickass shifter and ain’t nobody shaming me for it. Like, this is who I am. But they also own who they are like other Progs don’t. Betas lack Primal senses and abilities, but they don’t give a shit. They’re like, ‘I’m born this way, take it or leave it.’ It was really cool. They don’t have all these rules other Progs do. One of them identified as a Conservative because he was devoted to the One. A few of them had several gods, _our_ gods. They didn’t give jack shit about what could happen if they sucked a gland or knotted someone since they can’t form scent bonds or activate dormant abilities. They didn’t have glands, couldn’t hear or make our sounds, and, oh, this was freaky, they’re born with their gender. Oh, oh, and guess what? They don’t have regular Heats and Ruts as we know it, but their Os are more fertile during one point of the month and about two weeks later, guess what happens if they’re not knocked up?” Dean lowers his voice to a harsh, horrified whisper, “_They bleed_.”

Blue-Eye gives him a dubious look while Marlon laughs until he wheezes.

“I like Betas. I need to meet more of them to see if it was just a fluke that these guys were chill,” Dean says before he goes on to describe the music he’d listened to, the decision not to have sex again that night, and the newly presented O. At no point can he detect any sign of jealousy in Marlon’s voice, not even when Dean has to stop talking for a bit because Blue-Eye needs to grind into him so his knot doesn’t go down. (Which Dean naturally relays to Marlon.)

“After I left the girl, I just got caught up in all the music. There was this one song about sanctuary, and I was hit by this intense longing. I missed you so much. And I missed Arvid and Laurent to the point where it almost hurt. Stupid, right? A year ago I’d never heard of them, and now I carry them around in my heart all the time. Arvid’s my fucking hero, man. If he ain’t running with us when I die, then I hope we can visit other packs in the afterlife. I _have to_ meet him.” Dean gives Blue-Eye an odd look. The Alpha has stilled, watching him intently, scent making no sense as he smells of mourning, anxiety and great excitement. “Anyway, so I… um. Promise you won’t get mad?” Dean goes on and lifts his hand in a placating gesture even though Marlon can’t see it.

“If I don’t know what you did, I can’t give such a promise,” Marlon answers with an amused lilt.

“Okay, fine.” Dean runs a hand through his hair then begins petting Blue-Eye again in a self soothing gesture. Blue-Eye kisses the skin he can reach encouragingly, eyes focused on Dean’s face. “I went to the Sanctuary. Are you mad?” Dean hastens to say and bites his lip apprehensively.

Marlon chuckles warmly. “Of course not, sweetheart.”

Dean deflates in relief. “Okay, good. So I went there. I know I can’t go sixty years back in time or whatever, but I wanted to be close to all of y’all. The club’s been renovated to high heaven. And I didn’t expect them to be dancing swing anymore, right? But it still felt just like I thought it would. The music was fucking kickass, and, since I wanted to feel close to you, I went to the dance floor after I got a drink. That’s what you’d do, right? I know you also hung out in the back, but it wouldn’t have done me any good if I’d wandered back there cuz there wouldn’t be a table occupied by Hales, Jayhawks, Swifts, Williamses and Boltons. I know you ended up at the Sanctuary that first time because Arvid wanted to swing a wing. So I started dancing." Both Alphas are listening intently now. He can hear it in Marlon's silence and see it on Blue-Eye. "I keep looking around since I don't have anyone watching my back. I’m keeping my guard up, but I’m also trying to figure out what’s changed since back in the days and what hasn't. Then I spot the bartender talking with this Alpha, and I'm like, _hot damn_. My decision not to have any more sex tonight went flying straight out the window when I saw him."

Blue-Eye sniggers, his scent turning so content that Dean knows he's smug.

"Is that the Alpha you're with right now?" Marlon asks, still with no hint of jealousy.

"You bet it is," Dean confirms. "Apparently, I've got a thing for Alphas that look like assholes who could probably take me in a fight."

Both Alphas start laughing. Dean grins and purrs contentedly.

"Big guy?" Marlon asks, still chuckling.

"No, he's short," Dean answers.

"I'm not short," Blue-Eye protests with mock indignation.

"Dude, you're like, five foot ten!"

Marlon bursts out laughing again. Blue-Eye bites Dean playfully on the shoulder, laughing silently. But, hey! It’s not Blue-Eye’s fault Dean’s surrounded by giants on a daily basis.

Dean gives him a wink before he goes on. "So the bartender is talking to this guy, pointing out people to him. But then, he points straight at me and the guy meets my gaze. Now, I know I dance like shit. Not shitty enough to make a fool of myself, but sure as hell not good enough to entice a hot Alpha. So I flare and drop full fangs as fast as I can, tryin’ to catch his interest. But then some bastard deep-purrs me from behind. I look away to growl at him to piss off, and when I look back to the bar, my Alpha’s gone. But you know, you can’t always get anyone you want.”

“But you did,” Marlon points out.

“Yeah. A while later he taps my shoulder and asks me if I’m an Alpha or Omega. I felt like being a little shit again, and asked him if it matters as long as I bottom, but then some dude deep-purred me so I didn't get to milk the tease.”

Blue-Eye snorts in amusement. “Pierre had already told me you’re an O, but coming face to face with you I started doubting it.”

“Hey, don’t insult me,” Dean jokes and winks. He returns to retelling the story. “So then we started dancing. He grabbed my hips to steer me, making us look good. I think he’s a pretty good dancer. I doubt he’s in your league, but you’re one of those assholes who clears a dance floor because people want to gawk at the sheer skill, so you don’t count.”

Marlon gives a smug purr while Blue-Eye sniggers silently.

“We’re grinding pretty heavily, right?” Dean goes on. “Both getting pretty damn horny. So he offers me a drink. But I’m drunk enough as it is, so I turn it down. Then he asks if I want to get high, offering me uppers or downers, whichever I want. I was completely blindsided. Like, _nobody_ has _ever_ offered me drugs before. I guess I should have expected it, knowing what you’d told me about the Sanctuary, but, nuh-uh. I was so confused I stopped and just blinked at him like a moron for fucking ages.”

Blue-Eye laughs out loud at that. “I thought you maybe hadn’t understood the offer. And it wasn’t ages. Seconds, maybe.”

Marlon chuckles. “Did you take the offer?”

“Nope. After I’d thought about it _for ages_,” he gives Blue-Eye a pointed look of reproach that sets the Alpha off laughing again, “I turned it down. If I’m gonna try anything, I wanna do it with you, at home. But honestly? I’m not that interested. And it seemed to please my boy at the same time as it annoyed him, right? Someone raised him right, but he kept missing his target with his offerings. So I told him I was hungry to help him out a bit. No food, no flare, no fuck, right? Oh oh oh! His flare, Papa! He’s got the prettiest blue flare. Like your eyes when you aren’t flaring.”

Both Alphas once again burst out laughing, Blue-Eye falls back on the bed clutching his chest, howling “_Buuurn_,” laughing.

“What? It was a compliment,” Dean chuckles in bemusement, wondering why that set the two Alphas off laughing even harder. Marlon’s eyes shift colour between cold, glacial blue and warm, tropical lagoon blue, depending on his mood. Blue-Eye―whose eyes are blue even when he isn’t flaring, by the way—has an icy blue flare at its strongest, and a sky blue one when he mellows it down. Dean can’t see what’s so funny to both the Alphas. He waits until the pair have started to collect themselves. “I forgot to say that he has a cold. That’s why he asked my gender. His sense of smell is completely dead. I even let him siphon me, but it didn’t work. Got him high, but he couldn’t smell me. Which is a bit unfair since I already knew he was a Packrunner like us. He has three mates and a bunch of other close bonds. Anyway, he took me to the bar, got me food and cognac. That fine stuff you drink at home? And then we leave to get privacy and fresh air. That’s when we bump into that Roth guy who starts flinging insults, calling my Alpha a lunatic and insulting me. My Alpha’s cool an’ all, winking out his flare, stepping in front of me protectively. Which, _hah!_ But I still appreciate the thought. After I’d read Roth the riot act we went on our way. My boy took me to a part of the slums I’ve never seen before. I could scent the markings made by his pack. And this guy, he smells so good, Papa, you wouldn’t believe. I kept thinking I’m damned lucky I never went where he took me when I first arrived in New York or I’d never have met you. I’d have ended up in his pack, probably mated to him. But there’s a difference. His scent and mine are a great match, and I’m sure I’d’ve been happy with him. But you guys...I can’t fucking think straight because you smell so good. I might be a tiny bit infatuated with him, but I’m head over heels for y’all.”

Blue-Eye lies grinning, looking at the ceiling and shaking his head. He doesn’t actually seem to take any offense, smelling content and amused. Which is good, because Dean doesn’t mean any affront.

“Pack markings, you say?” Marlon asks with an odd lilt to his voice.

“Yeah. I put a small mark under one of them to pay my respect. Told him I don’t wanna piss off a Main. He adds, ‘or a Patriarch’, but I tell him, nah. Patriarchs are sweet and easy to handle. It’s a joke, of course. Patriarchs are caustic, mule-headed morons most of the times,” Dean jokes and purrs contentedly when he once again makes both Alphas laugh. It’s good that they have a sense of humour. And Blue-Eye had gotten a laugh out of Dean because of Dean’s ignorance, so it’s only fair that he gets to poke the Alpha right back. “Then he takes me to a building and tells me we’re going up on the roof. I hesitated so he thought I was afraid. Would you believe? Me? Afraid of heights? Pfhah! It was only five storeys for fuck sake. No, I was hesitating cuz the rooftops are Hale domain. I asked him if he had friends in the Hales. He said yes and assured me we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Five storey building…” Marlon mumbles to himself, then sighs and says, “Dean, how drunk are you?”

Dean sputters. “Why are you asking that? He asked me that exact thing before the climb. I wasn’t _that_ drunk. I wouldn’t fall.”

Blue-Eye is hit by another fit of laughter. 

Marlon chuckles tiredly. “Of course not, sweetheart. Please, go on.”

“Okay. We got to the roof, and it was perfect. I stood looking at the view. I could see the bridge you and Arvid walked over, but couldn’t figure out where you met Laurent for the first time. I could, however, see the shipyard. And I think I know which roof you and Arvid watched the bombings from. It was such an overwhelming feeling. For a moment, I could almost see the city burning. I felt like I got a glimpse of that night all those years ago. It felt… I dunno. That such an important and fate-changing friendship got started like it did... And I got to go to those places. I got to see the club, and stand in the bar where you, a bratty little kit with no filter, asked Laurent why he was dying, and then made it your life’s mission to make sure he wouldn’t. All because he respected you as an equal and heeded your warning about the bombs. Fuck, but it’s big. It’s big, Papa. But then Mister Blue-Eye over here went and ruined it all by asking if I was alright,” Dean adds the last sentence with a teasing smirk at Blue-Eye who’d gone quiet and serious listening. “FYI,” Dean says to Blue-Eye, “I wasn’t really alright. I was feeling all kinds of overwhelmed and sappy. But it was a good distraction.”

“If you really want to see where everything went down, I can take you on a walk through the city,” Marlon offers. “I’ll even brave intruding upon Hale territory for you.”

“Would you? This week?” Dean asks hopefully.

“I’ll set aside Thursday for it, and I won’t let anything stop me. I promise.”

Dean chirps happily. “Have you been to the Sanctuary recently?”

“Not since Peter became Patriarch. I’m not welcome there, and I’d like to keep our alliance intact. It’s strained enough as it is.”

“But _why?_ Why would Peter hold such a major grudge against you? You were best friends with his parents.”

Blue-Eye rolls up to lie with his head on Dean’s shoulder again, watching Dean intently as he waits for an answer. He’s starting to go soft. Another minute and they can lie a bit more comfortably.

“Peter didn’t know the nature of my relationship with Arvid and Laurent. We made him believe it was strictly business, same as we did with my kits.”

“_WHY_? That’s insane! Why would you keep your best friends secret to your kits???”

“Political reasons. It seemed appropriate at the time. I’ll explain it to you sometime, darling, but we were wrong.”

Dean groans.

“What did he say?” Blue-Eye urges.

“They lied to their kits due to politics. You know, the fewer that know the details, the less risk someone leaks to the press or whatever the fuck,” Dean skimps on those details himself, not telling the Alpha that it wouldn’t have looked good if the pack that stepped up to grab the political power after The Reckoning, was openly best buddies with the criminal pack controlling the slums. “I bet it was to make Packrunning look less corrupt for outsiders. To them, it made sense. Kits talk because they don’t know better. I still think they’re idiots.”

“What pack do you belong to?” Blue-Eye asks with an almost desperate edge.

“Nope. Not doing that. Told you, no politics today. As long as I’m out celebrating the Pyrefest I’m just me, not a representative for my pack. And don’t you go wagging your tongue about any of this like a regular Gossip Girl, okay? Peter Hale is under my protection whether he knows it or not, and I’m too drunk to figure out if anyone could use this against him or us somehow, so I don’t want it spread.”

Blue-Eye flops back on the mattress again with a disgruntled noise, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I won’t talk,” he mutters.

Marlon chuckles, having silently listened in. “Then lets talk about that matter at home instead. Tell me what happened next,” he bids.

“After he fucked me on the roof, I suggested we find a hotel room and pull an all nighter. Wanted to claim him and be claimed by him since he smells so damn good. He said he knew just the place. We made a stop at a Prog dance club called ‘Heist’ because he needed to talk with one of the guards. You ever been there?”

“No.”

“Alright. I think it belongs to his pack. It was one of those rave clubs or whatever they’re called. I fucking loved it. I like to dance as much as anyone, but the kind of dancing they do there? Loved it as much as you love your fancy dancing. Only wished I wasn’t there alone, so I didn’t have to keep my guard up. Heh. I got offered drugs there _twice_. First guy was from the same pack as my Alpha. The second guy gave me bad vibes. I suspect he wasn’t a licensed dealer, if you get what I’m sayin’?”

Blue-Eye rolls right back up on Dean again. This time his dick’s soft enough to slip out so he ends up pulling Dean onto his back so he’s lying half on top of Dean instead of leaned over his shoulder. “What did he look like?” he asks at the same time Marlon asks, “Why did he give you bad vibes?”

Dean sniggers. “Fuck, I shoulda told you about it, huh?” he says to Blue-Eye. “Alright, I’ll answer you both. The first guy had that glowy facepaint and glowy details on his clothing that made him easy to spot. He stuck around to answer questions and when I turned his offer down he told me where to find him if I changed my mind. He smelled prosperous and happy. Real likable dude, right? The second guy didn’t wear anything that drew attention. It was like he was trying to be a dark dot moving in the sea of people. He smelled nervous. That’s what I thought a pusher should smell like before the first guy approached me. But since the first guy had already talked to me and he moved around shamelessly, it gave me a hint that this guy wasn’t supposed to be there. There were other hints. This guy wasn’t well. He had a chronic respiratory disease that’s gonna kill him within a coupla years tops unless he moves from where he lives now. That seemed fishy too ‘cuz he doesn’t live close to the club. Then, when I stopped dancing to frown at him, his anxiety spiked and he tried to melt away into the crowd. When I danced after him, he freaked and bolted for the exit.”

“How do you know where he lives?” both Alphas ask at the same time.

Dean sniggers and Marlon chuckles at the synchronised question. Only Blue-Eye doesn’t laugh, but he’s not privy to Marlon’s side of the conversation. Dean taps his nose. “I could smell it. I often foraged in the slums when I came here from Kansas, right? There’s an old warehouse to the west. It has a faded painting of an O smoking a cigarette on it.”

“I know the place,” Blue-Eye says encouragingly, smelling excited.

“Yeah? Alright. So there are swallows that build nests under the eaves, and there’s a gap along the wall where it connects to the rafters. It’s really easy to raid the nests through that gap. That’s why I went there. But there’s a catch. The whole warehouse is full of a certain kind of mould you only find in buildings with a type of insulation that was only legal for a year or two before it got banned for being too flammable. This mould? Super toxic. Like, I’d only go in there for an hour tops, and only once a week. You could put up with it longer, but I ain’t risking it for a coupla eggs and small birds. It starts with headaches and fatigue, then progresses through a range of symptoms. Chronic respiratory disease is the stage before your organs start failing, though you might die from suffocation before your organs have a chance to fail. Here in the city, I’ve only smelled that mould in there. I mean, yeah, I’m sure it’s in more places, but this guy also smelled like salt water, traces of the lead paint they used on the side of the building and tar. That warehouse is by the water, and you have to climb over a huge crate sticky with tar to get to decent sleeping places in there. So yeah, I’d say that warehouse is your safest bet to find him.”

“Good job,” Blue-Eye purrs. “Lately, we’ve had people suffering bad trips and even dying, and the stuff people get from us won’t kill you. We haven’t been able to weed out who’s selling the bad shit,” he says and rubs his temple and neck against Dean both possessively and affectionately. “Until now.”

“I second your bed partner,” Marlon says. “It’s very reassuring to hear how well you suss out trouble even in an inebriated state.”

Dean purrs in self-satisfaction. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismisses. “After that my boy came to get me and took me to an apartment so we could fuck our brains out. It’s only a studio apartment but it’s awesome. It’s got mirrors everywhere so no matter what position you’re in you can see both the door and the windows. Ain’t nobody sneaking up on us here.”

Blue-Eye laughs. “Damn, you’re good.”

Dean just smirks at him. “So we’ve been fucking and talking since.” He chuckles. “It’s funny, because I figured out he was a Patriarch the moment we stepped into this apartment, right? I mean, I shouda gotten it earlier, to be honest. He has this air of power like you do. Like, ‘I’m so badass I don’t have to prove myself anymore.’ _And_ he’s pulling your ‘I’m soo mysterious’ crap. Giving almost nothing personal away, right? Which is fine. I’m a bit weak for it, I guess. I like him, and I fucking love you, and you both do it, right?” Blue-Eye sniggers, and Marlon chirps in amusement. Still no jealousy. Dean wonders, though, if a bomb will go off when he comes home. “But what’s so funny, is,” he continues, “that somewhere along the way he decided he wanted me in his pack. And he’s temporarily noseblind, right? So he goes, all sly looking as if I wouldn’t get it, ‘You can siphon me if you want’. Had to stop myself from laughing in his face. Like, it’s a nice offer. Fucking while you’re siphon high is great, right? But he’s offering because he wants to rope me in with a bond.”

Blue-Eye lies on his chest, lips twitching with mirth, shoulders jumping in silent laughter at being called out on his bullshit.

“Does he have any reason to think it might work?” Marlon asks.

“Well. No, not since he’s noseblind. But, technically, yeah. I’ve told him how well our scents match and that I like him. So theoretically, with what he knows, it should be a piece of cake. Especially since he’s flung me into pre-Heat one week too early. But then again, he can’t smell that, so he didn’t know it.” 

“Now I do,” Blue-Eye says, looking smug and amused.

Dean gives him a wink and goes on. “So ever since I siphoned him I’ve been debating with myself if I should tell him it won’t work. Because he’s just a Patriarch with three mates, while I’m a Main with five.” 

The Alpha’s eyes widen in surprise before he bursts out laughing again. 

Marlon chuckles, thoroughly amused. “He’s taking it with good humour,” he remarks.

Dean hums an affirmative, grinning at Blue-Eye.

“There’s _no way_ you can be a Main,” Blue-Eye says with a huge grin when he’s stopped laughing. “You’re, what? 2? 4 years at most.”

“Add a decade to the last guess and you’re right.”

“No shit?”

“Presented at 13. My body grew from boy to man in one year. Ten out of ten for pain. I would not recommend it.” 

Blue-Eye laughs again and smells jubilantly happy, as if this is the greatest joke he’s ever pulled on himself. On the phone, Marlon’s purring a Patriarchal all-is-well.

“Wow. That explains so much. I’ve been trying to figure out all night how you could have such die-hard confidence at such young age. Several times your behaviour caught me completely by surprise, but only because I thought you were young.” Blue-Eye starts laughing again. Then, something wonderful happens - he starts purring a Patriarchal all-is-well too, unbeknownst to him, synching with Marlon.

Dean grins and adds his own all-is-well. “Fuck, I wish you could be here in person, Papa. We’re having the best threesome. Listen to this.” Dean holds the phone to Blue-Eye so both Alphas can hear their synched purrs. He pulls the phone back before Blue-Eye can grab it. “I think you two would like each other. Or you might hate each other, but I dunno. I’m gonna entertain the thought that you’d like each other.”

“I’m sure I would, if your boy could let go of the past and let me like him,” Marlon says warmly.

Something about that statement… Marlon knows who this is. Dean almost asks but decides against it. Marlon will tell him at home. After the possibly epic fight they might have when the Patriarch’s jealousy kicks in. Tonight Dean wants to be just ‘Dean’, so it’s better not knowing.

They talk for a few more minutes until it’s time for Marlon to board the plane. He urges Dean to take his time and get some sleep before coming home. Dean promises he will, and they agree they both will be at home by two PM.

“Please tell me what pack you belong to,” Blue-Eye begs after he’s hung up.

Dean shakes his head. “Next time we see each other, unless it’s during the Pyrefest, we’ll introduce ourselves properly as representatives of our packs. I’ll be happy to see you, and I want to negotiate an alliance. But not tonight.”

Blue-Eye deflates in acceptance. Instead, they fuck. Dean can smell a tenuous friendship bond starting to form. When they lay knotted for the umpteenth time, this time after having done it face to face (which Blue-Eye found a bit odd), Dean says, “I like you. And we have a friendship bond forming, so I guess it’s mutual. But so we’re clear, I ain’t sticking around to spend my Heat with you. Chances are, we could form a mating bond. It’s the only strong bond all our other bonds can’t protect us from. But I’ll tell you straight up that under other circumstances, such a bond wouldn’t have been unwelcome. Now? One shouldn’t mate within two packs. It never ends well.”

“Don’t I know it,” Blue-Eye mutters.

They talk. Dean ends up telling the short version of how he became a Main at 13. The Alpha is a little more forthcoming than he’d been so far, telling Dean that he’d lost a mate too. The only thing that saved him was his own stupidity, thinking suppressants were foolproof protection against pregnancy. He’d knocked up some Os by mistake, but becoming a father had saved him. At the first whiff of his kits, his Alpha instinct had kicked in. So instead of setting the world on fire and burning himself up with it in his rage, he made it his mission to destroy everyone who stood in the way of his kits’ future happiness. One of his kits had died at birth along with its mother. The rest had grown up to be healthy. Two had already presented as Os and wandered, while the third was in the process of presenting as an Alpha. Blue-Eye isn’t mated to his Main, and his current mating bonds formed over a long period of time as friendships grew strong and solid, morphing into a mellow kind of love. 

“It’s not the same as my first mate. I loved him passionately above all else, even though strong forces tried to keep us apart. I was young and foolish enough to let it happen, thinking I’d be a traitor to my pack if I didn’t. Looking back, I should have listened to my dad who told me to forsake the pack and follow my heart. If I’d done that from the start…” Blue-Eye heaves a sigh. “I still think of him often, wondering what he’s doing, comforting myself with the thought that he’s in a better place now. I wish I could talk to him. I hold out hope that he’d forgive all the wrongs I did him out of sheer youthful naïveté. But, if there was one thing my parents always tried to hammer into me, it was that if you love someone, you let them go if that’s what it takes for them to be happy.” He shakes his head. “It took a decade for that to sink in. I acted according to what they’d taught me, but I didn’t feel it until I started finding some semblance of peace inside myself. It’s been two decades since I lost him. I’m not the same man today I was back then. I had people stand by me after that loss, after my rage and hurt turned me into little more than a snarling monster. When everyone else thought I was a lost cause, they stuck by me... they’re still here. And today I have a good Main, a happy, healthy pack, and a life I enjoy. I’m content. I never thought that would happen.”

“I feel ya. But you’ll see him on the other side one day.”

Blue-Eye snorts in amusement and shakes his head. “That would require me to leave my pack.”

“So it’s the same choice all over again, huh?”

“Didn’t think of that.” The Alpha’s quiet for a bit, lost in thought. “Do you think that’s possible? Not to run with your pack in the afterlife?”

“Yeah, sure, why not? The way I’ve heard it, love dictates where you end up.”

“Dad always said mom wasn’t going to run with us, so neither would he. They were gonna go to the pack that was denied them in life, due to duty, whatever that means. So maybe that’s where I’ll end up. Running with them.”

In the morning when they wake up, they have sex again and then eat breakfast. Dean knows he said he wouldn’t be home before 2 PM, but he’s itching to get to Marlon and Dick. Blue-Eye laughs at his restlessness and tells him to go home to his mates.

It’s 10:57 AM when Dean steps out of the cab. Home. It feels like he’s been gone ages. A bit apprehensive, Dean wonders if Marlon and Dick are at home, and whether Marlon’s jealousy’s really under control…

* * *


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes home. What he meets him isn't what he's expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of this installment. :D
> 
> My apologies anyone who is a Chuck-fan. This is something I always knew went on, but wasn't sure if I would dare drag out in the open. But, I figure, this is the best option if I want everyone to have a happy, hopeful future. :)   
(Also, I've caught up with canon SPN and may harbour grudges.)

* * *

Dean smells it the moment he sets foot inside the apartment. The overwhelming scent of grief, pain, and anger. It’s Marlon. Guilt slams into Dean so hard that, for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. His pulse jumps into overdrive. He stands frozen, too shocked to move.

It takes a full 30 seconds before he can break the icy hold and jog into the apartment, following his nose in search of Marlon. He's in the bedroom. Dean yanks the door open and once again gets stuck, frozen.

He'd expected a bomb to go off when he got home.

But not like this.

It looks like an actual bomb went off. It takes him a beat to process that, no, no bomb exploded - just Marlon's temper. 

The bed is shredded, furniture busted into kindling, photos torn into confetti and strewn everywhere. The big portrait of Chuck on the wall is destroyed, but mostly still hanging up there. And Marlon? He’s sitting on the floor, back pressed to the bed, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking himself and crying like the world is ending.

Dean takes two steps into the room, driven by the all-encompassing _need_ to comfort his mate, but stops, unsure if he should, if it’s wanted, if he’s the cause of all this.

Marlon raises his head, blotchy, tear-streaked and red-eyed, body wracked by choking sobs that makes it hard for him to breathe. His grief is so sharp it’s causing him physical pain. Seeing Dean, he collapses in on himself even further and says, “Yuh-yuh-you’re n-n-not, sup-suppos-sed to be ho-ho-home for hours,” barely getting the words out through his sobs.

“Are you kidding me? If you feel like this, I’m hours _late_!”

Marlon’s face crumbles, Dean’s answer causing another bout of bawling.

This time, Dean doesn’t hesitate. Screw it, whether it’s his fault or not, he needs to comfort his mate. He dives onto the floor and wraps his arms around Marlon, pressing his lips to Marlon’s temple to purr comfortingly. Marlon lets go of his knees to wrap his arms around Dean instead, clinging so hard it hurts.

“You’re scaring me, baby. Nothing happened to the boys, did it?” 

Marlon shakes his head, but can’t stop crying. It seems like he’s opened a floodgate, unleashing a life-time of held back tears. It takes ages for him to cry himself out. Dean’s trying to make sense of it all. From what he can see, all the shredded photos are pictures of Chuck. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t smell an intruder, not that anyone could get past their security. Did Marlon do this? All he can do is hold on to his mate and try to soothe him, despite his own fear and confusion.

Eventually, Marlon’s tears start to subside. Dean waits until Marlon’s quiet, trembling, and only errant sobs tearing free, before he dries Marlon’s face with his sleeve. For lack of a better option, he offers Marlon a piece of shredded sheet so he can blow his nose.

“I’m sorry, baby. You told me to go out and have a knot or five, so I did. I knew I was putting your jealousy to the test, but I never wanted this. If I’d known that this is how you would feel, I never would have. I swear it,” Dean says.

Marlon gives him a sad, tired half-smile. “This isn’t your fault, pet. It’s mine. For years I’ve been lying to myself, hiding from painful truths I didn’t want to see. But you’ve opened my eyes. When I held you up to the truth, you unraveled all my lies. The dam broke, and all the emotions I was holding back came bursting out like a flood.” He makes a sweeping motion to take in the room. “This was all just an illusion, and now it’s as broken and ugly as the truth I was trying to hide.” 

Dean looks around at the destruction. It’s all aimed at Chuck. He’d noticed it coming into the room, but he still doesn’t quite follow Marlon’s train of thought. 

“Sometimes, I wish I’d never met you,” Marlon says. That hurts. But Marlon quickly goes on to explain, all while holding Dean like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “Without you in my life, I never would have faced the truth. I would have kept fooling myself, kept lying to myself, kept insisting that I was happy with my Charles. That our love was something beautiful. That it didn’t hurt.” His voice is tired and wistful. “Charles kept me walking on eggshells. I never knew what mood he was in. Never knew what would set him off. Never felt I was enough. Charles said he’d never let me leave him, but it always felt like he was the one with one foot out the door. But then here you are. You’ve made it clear that if I mistreat you, you’ll let our mating bond fade, but your actions make it just as clear that you love me, even when I’ve been an ass. You love me even if I make mistakes. You love me and you’re planning to stay, not looking for reasons to leave. And anytime you do something that reminds of my Charles’ behaviour, Richard is there to point out the difference.”

Dean rocks Marlon back and forth, placing soft kisses on his temple. “What set this off?”

Marlon huffs. “You did.”

Dean holds back an unhappy sound. “Yeah, I got that. But how?”

Marlon’s quiet for a minute, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts. “Charles hated Naomi. If he could have chosen, he would have kicked her out the moment he became Main. But he was smart enough to know that would have pushed me too far. Naomi was one of those lines in the sand. Conservative or not, I love her, and he knew it…” He draws a deep breath. “Then you… Dick and I can’t join you for the Pyrefest as we’d planned, and what do you do? You call Carter and Naomi. You know how I feel about them, and you want to spend time with them. You want to bond with them! You stand ready to love them simply because I do.” If it’s possible, Marlon squeezes Dean even tighter, anointing Dean’s skin with his scent and his drying tears. “You know, I called Naomi after we’d boarded the plane. She told me everything you’d said and done, including stripping for her mate.”

Dean had also told Marlon that. “She’s not mad at him for it, right? I know she said she wasn’t, but since I couldn’t smell her―”

Marlon utters a pained laugh. “Sweetheart, they’re apprehensive, but not mad. Charles often tried to play games with them, trying to drive a wedge between Carter, Naomi and me. Then you come along, and you appear genuinely happy about their presence in my life. So they asked me if you’re for real? And I can’t answer that question because I’ve lived in an emotionally abusive relationship so long I don’t know how to _recognise a healthy one!_” Marlon’s voice rises until he shouts the last part in a fit of rekindled rage. He grabs a large splinter of what once was a chair, and hurls it at the shredded photo of Chuck on the wall. The next second he’s flinging himself up, roaring at the portrait, his flare at its brightest and all four fangs growing long and sharp. “I _hate_ you! How could you treat me like that, Charles?! I won’t go back to that! I won’t run with you when I die! I never want to see you again!” he yells and punches the inside of Chuck’s frame again and again until his knuckles start to bleed and the picture finally crashes to the floor with all the other shattered memories. Marlon takes a step back to roar at it again, then stands there staring at it as if he’s waiting for it to attack. For several seconds he stands there, chest heaving and hands fisted at his side. Then he whimpers, starts curling in on himself once again.

Immediately Dean’s up, and pulling him into an embrace, cooing comfort and kissing his face. He gently guides them to sit down while Marlon struggles to hold back another bout of tears.. “It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. You’re alright. I’m here, baby,” Dean mumbles, adding a comforting breastbone purr.

Little by little, Marlon relaxes. He burrows his face by Dean’s neck and inhales deeply. Dean worries the scent of the other Alpha might make things worse. He hadn’t washed Blue-Eye off since he wanted to introduce him, but now he frets, though Marlon’s making no sign of not liking what he smells. Maybe he’s gone stuffy and noseblind from all the crying. 

Eventually, Marlon pulls back enough to look unhappily around the room. “How will my sons ever forgive me for destroying so many photos of their dad?”

“I’m sure they won’t be too mad, if you’re honest about why. Was he a good dad?”

Marlon sighs and leans heavily against Dean. All the fight has gone out of him, for now. “I think so, yes. I can’t recollect him treating our boys unfairly. And when he retreated to write, he had three Alphas who doted on his kits.” He huffs a small, humourless laugh. “Honestly, with how preoccupied I was by my kitlings, it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a bad dad.”

Dean sniggers. “Sasha said―” He swallows his tongue at the slip, eyes going round and horrified. Now is _not_ the time to provoke the Patriarch. But Marlon’s looking at him now, waiting. Backtracking might be just as provocative as talking. Dean swallows. “Um. I told Sasha I’d started to go bare with some of y’all. I could smell he didn’t like it. He didn’t say anything about it, but I presume he thinks I’m too young and I’d be a bad parent. So I told him to fuck off, cuz I’d be a great dad. He found it funny, and said I didn’t have to be a good dad, I just have to survive the birth.” 

Marlon’s expression is unreadable for a couple of seconds before he chuckles tiredly. “He isn’t wrong. Alpha instinct is a strong compulsion. It has to be, to prevent the Alphas from following if they lose their mates to kit-birth. But Charles loved his kits, and he was the one who kept insisting we have more despite the risks. I’m currently feeling uncharitable enough towards him to say he loved to create new life, and craved the devotion of his creations... But it doesn’t matter why. He didn’t treat our kits like he treated me. And that, what you just did? Charles caused me to do the same thing, and it breaks my heart to see that I’ve done the same thing to you, pet. I’m hurting you the same way he hurt me, and I’m finally seeing that. But I don’t know if I can stop.”

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

Marlon raises a hand to caress Dean’s cheek gently. “Censor yourself. You started to say something with enthusiasm, then you faltered when you didn’t know how I’d react. I could see your brightness fade, and that makes me so angry at myself. ”

Dean lowers his gaze. “Sorry. I know you don’t like him, and I don’t want to spark a fight about him. Especially not now.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. With Charles, I never knew what would trigger the cold shoulder. We used to talk about everything, but as the years progressed, I started censoring myself to avoid punishment. I kept secrets that shouldn’t have been secrets. Yesterday, you gladly narrated your whole day for me, even in front of a stranger. As far as I could tell, you hid nothing. Our last years? If it was me, and Charles asked about my day, I would have answered that I had a great day. Maybe I would have told him of particularly good street food I’d tried, or perhaps described a band whose music I’d enjoyed. I’d tell him nothing that mattered, nothing personal, nothing he could use to hurt me. I certainly wouldn’t have told him I’d had sex, even if he’d given me permission.” Marlon leans his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Several times, Charles lied about sleeping with other Alphas solely to make me jealous. And, often, he’d imply that it was a shame he hadn’t met this or that Alpha before he’d met me, making sure I knew they would have been a better mate. That’s why our phone call last night triggered this.” Marlon turns his gaze to give Dean a soft, sad smile, his soul stripped bare behind his red-rimmed eyes. “You were so open about everything you’d done. You met people, you had sex, you had a wonderful day. And instead of forgetting about me, you searched out my past, the places and people I loved so you could feel closer to me in spirit. Even when you were knotted to another Alpha, by Ares, you still managed to assure me of your devotion while letting him know your attraction was genuine. You called it a threesome, like I was actually there with you, and you made me feel like I was. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so happy about you being there with him, aside from the obvious reason.” Dean really can’t see an obvious reason, but Marlon goes on before he can ask about it. “ I didn’t think about Charles until an hour later. We were on the plane, Dick had fallen asleep, and I was watching the clouds roll by. I was trying to work through jealousy I didn’t feel, trying to pinpoint why I didn’t feel it.”

“Cuz you were with me the whole time,” Dean states.

Marlon’s smile widens. His bleary eyes are still mostly sad and tired, but the warmth in them is unmistakable. “I was. You made me believe it.”

Dean smiles, feeling shy all the sudden. “You’ve said y’all were happy together...” It’s not a question even if he means it as such.

Marlon sighs, tugging until Dean’s in his lap where he can hold him close and nose his hair affectionately. “Often, we were. When I’m with my mate, it takes very little for me to be happy. I haven’t been lying about all the good times we had. But I have lied to myself about how much he manipulated me and isolated me from other people I liked. If I hadn’t had Aiden…" Marlon trails off and remains quiet for a moment. "I feel so humiliated. It's hard to admit that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship, and that I was the victim. Aiden tried, he tried to make me see it, tried to make me leave, but I _chose_ to stay with Charles. I chose to justify his behaviour. I chose to defend him when Aiden tried to help me. Even worse, I can see now that what he did to me, the man he made me, makes me a bad mate for you. And admitting this to myself now sullies every good memory I have of him. ”

Dean’s shaking his head. “You’re not a bad mate.”

Marlon shushes his protest with a kiss to the top of his head. “I am, pet. Often. I get insecure and jealous. I routinely withhold things from you. I get agitated when I don’t know what you’re doing. Even though I try my best not to be that man, I fail. Did you know, when I caught your scent for the first time my reaction was just as powerful as when I first smelt my Charles?”

Dean huffs. “Dude. I think I would have noticed.”

Marlon chuckles tiredly, puts a finger under Dean’s chin and tilts his head up to meet his gaze. “Would you believe I’m not a newly presented fool experiencing overwhelming scent attraction for the first time? I hope I’ve learned a tad bit of self-discipline since then,” he jokes.

Dean sniggers and gives him an affectionate temple rub. “Yet you had no intention of mating me when we first met, so you’re still a fool.”

Marlon lets out a surprised laugh, a real one this time. 

“Fool is but my first name, as Aiden doubtlessly would have told you. He and Charles didn’t get along because of me. Aiden always saw the reality of what was happening. But since I _am_ a fool I wouldn’t listen. Over the years I met several Omegas I could potentially have grown to love, but Charles always stopped me from getting to know them better. He never wanted another O to share my affection.”

“That’s so fucking stupid!” Dean can’t help his outburst. “ When Cas died, I almost died with him. If I’d had a second mate, I woulda been ten times safer. You had kits, and he kept getting pregnant. He must have known the risks.”

“I think he liked the thought that I couldn’t live without him,” Marlon says, then grabs a handful of photo confetti and throws it away from him with a snarl, the realization of such a horrible truth making his scent spiky with anger once more. “I keep expecting you to behave like Charles, it’s hard for me to not to. He had me housebroken with his distrust and lies. You know, I’ve never stopped writing? I’ve published one to four books a year, but I kept it a secret from Charles. Writing was an interest we shared, but my success offended him. He couldn’t tolerate being outshone and would never accept honest criticism.” He lets a rueful chuckle escape, “The only other O he ever accepted me being intimate with was Arvid. Why? Because Arvid loved his shitty books! Arvid would fawn over every new book he wrote.” Marlon absently rubs his nose against Dean’s hair, and strokes his back as his mind wanders in the past, seeing things in a new light. “Charles didn’t want me to have any outside interests. So I didn’t, aside from work and the boys. You, Richard and Sam, you’re all encouraging when it comes to the interests my sons and I have, even when it takes away from our time with you. I see it, and I appreciate it, but somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder when you’re going to spring the trap.” 

“Dude. I love seeing y’all be passionate about stuff. There ain’t no trap.”

Marlon lets his head fall back against the bed with an annoyed whine. “I know. I _know_. But I still harbour the apprehension.” There’s a pause, and Dean can literally feel Marlon battling with himself before his mate takes a breath and meets his eyes, licking his lips in submission. “I did try to keep you from going to the estate. I did it to protect Naomi and Carter. I was afraid you’d try to get rid of them like Charles did.” Dean blinks in surprise at the confession. Marlon looks back at him with a defeated look in his eyes. “And then you went there yourself, and you took to them as easy as breathing. From what I see, the only thing they have to fear from you is conversion. You’d twist them around your little finger and they’d never know what happened.”

Dean smiles self-consciously. “Yeah… maybe.”

Marlon’s laugh this time is lighter. “You’ve got my blessing, but don’t tell them that. I promised I’d never try to convert them, but that doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

“Duly noted. My lips are sealed.” 

Marlon places a chaste kiss on those lips. “I’ll tell you the truth, sweetheart. I had a rough time letting you go off to the Pyrefest yesterday. None of my sons, not even Luci, seem to fear you’ll forget about them when they’re away. I do. But then I was cooped up in the Teysha’s guest room with Richard, with nothing to do but talk and make love, and he managed to convince me I have nothing to fear. That’s why I was so calm during our call. And you…? You went searching for the ghosts of the two people I’ve loved most outside of my own pack, and you hit the nail right on the head. The irony in that can’t be denied. Wherever he is, I’m sure Arvid is laughing his head off.”

Dean frowns uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

“You still haven’t figured it out?”

Marlon’s lips twitch. He leans their foreheads together. “Dean, sweetheart, what pack in New York, beside us, would mark such a large territory? Hm? What pack would own multiple clubs in the slums?... What Alpha would confidently scuttle up a drainpipe, sure he wouldn’t be disturbed? Can you tell me that, please?”

Dean gets a knot in his stomach when his―now sober―brain catches up. “Oh, shit, he was a Hale!”

Marlon grins with a slow nod. “Uh-huh.”

“No wonder he thought it so funny when I talked about the Hales. Damn. _Oooh_, both of you asking how drunk I was before the climb makes sense now. And I― No. Wait. He can’t be a Hale. He was a Patriarch, you see, and that would mean―” Dean’s brain screeches to a full stop when Marlon’s shoulders start jumping in silent laughter, forehead moving in a nod against Dean’s. Dean backtracks. Blue-Eye had shown a great interest in hearing about Arvid and Laurent. Which makes sense. Dean would be very interested too if a stranger showed up and talked about John and Mary, revealing secrets about them Dean didn’t already know. “Peter Hale…” Dean breathes.

“Indeed,” Marlon agrees. “A man who smells like the perfect combination of Arvid and Laurent. One of the most powerful Alphas in the city. You sure do know how to pick them, love.”

“He didn’t know who I was…” Dean says driftingly, leaning back against the bed staring blankly at the wall. “He said I’d been pointed out to him as either trouble or the opposite of it.”

“There’s no either/or with you,” Marlon jokes. “But it makes sense.”

“I thought he and the bartender were just friends…” Dean says numbly as he sorts through the memories from last night. “That the bartender was pointing out all the hot Os…” He blinks, trying to get his ducks in a row. Then the next thought hits him and he goes into panic mode. "Oh shit! Fuck fuck fuck! I need to wash him off before Dick finds out!" He flings himself up and out of Marlon’s lap to rush towards the door. Marlon catches him by his ankle, and Dean goes down, falling headlong, barely managing to brace himself. "Ow."

A shadow falls over Dean's head as someone blocks the light from the corridor. "Before I find out what?” Dick asks from the doorway. He looks around at the destruction. "Oh dear. I thought we worked through your problem with Dean going to―" he starts saying to Marlon, scenting to discern the emotions in the room. He trails off mid-sentence, gaze lowering to look at Dean with stunned confusion.

Dean licks his lips in submission, looking up with regretful eyes. "I'm sorry, Dicky. I was drunk, he was hot as fuck, and I had no idea who he was. If I’d known, I never woulda done it. You gotta believe me. Please, Dick, I―”

Dick holds his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, silencing Dean’s apology. Then he makes a come hither gesture. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking. His expression is blank, and his scent is doing what Luci’s does, projecting nearly every feeling at once. With Luci, it’s a trick, some sort of scent camouflage to hide his true feelings. But, knowing Dick, this is because he’s overwhelmed by too many emotions. Marlon releases Dean’s ankle, and Dean slowly gets to his feet and approaches Dick, keeping his head lowered, licking his lips. Carter said Dean had no shame, but it’s not true. When he inadvertently hurts someone he cares for, he’s very ashamed of himself. Like now.

Dick reaches out to hook his hand behind Dean’s head, closing his eyes while pulling Dean closer so he can press his nose against Dean’s throat and inhale deeply. “Oh dear…”

“Dick, I―” Dean starts, but Dick hushes him again.

Dick stands, inhaling through his nose for an eternity that lasts several seconds before he speaks. His voice is calm and devoid of the maelstrom of emotions in his scent, but he doesn’t remove his nose from Dean’s throat. “Marlon, dear, would you explain to me what happened in here? After our long talk yesterday, I was certain you had your jealousy under control.”

“What happened was that I finally admitted to myself that Charles was emotionally abusive throughout our years together. I started wondering if any of the love Charles ever showed me was real. If everything was a manipulation. I had a slight meltdown, I’m afraid, darling.” Marlon and Dick dance with their words as gracefully as they do with their bodies and Dean is just as fascinated.

“I see. And Dean coming home claimed by Peter Hale has nothing to do with it?”

“No.”

“Were you aware Dean was with Peter?”

“Yes,” Marlon answers. Dean keeps quiet, uncomfortable, but not moving, pulled tight to Dick’s chest as the two talk around him.

“And, pray tell, why didn’t you inform me?”

“Dean didn’t know who he was. It felt unfair to tell you before Dean himself knew, in case he met you before me when he arrived home. It would put you on equal ground if both of you were surprised by the revelation.”

“Ah.” Dick’s silent, inhaling deeply for a few more seconds. “I don’t understand why Peter was so friendly towards a Williams on his territory even on the Day of the Pyre…” he muses.

Dean senses this is his cue. “Uh. He was noseblinded by a cold? He was just as clueless as me. Neither of us knew who we were dealing with,” Dean answers.

“I see.” Again, Dick’s quiet for several seconds, continuing to scent Dean. “Marlon, how do you feel about Peter marking Dean up like this?” Dean does his best not to squirm.

“I held Peter in my arms when he was a tiny kitling. He’s the son of two of my most beloved friends and lovers. How do you think I feel about it?”

“Oh. I always thought the animosity between the packs was mutual. I never suspected you could harbour warmer feelings towards him,” Dick drones in a flat voice, not letting his own feelings shine through.

Marlon snorts. “I love that kit, and I hate him for hating me.”

“I see…” For a long while, Dick doesn’t speak. Both Dean and Marlon hold their tongues, waiting. At last, Dick talks. “How is he…?”

“Um. Fine, I guess? He said he was content with his life as it is right now. He’s got three mates and three kits. Two of them have already presented as Os and wandered, the third is in the process of presenting as an Alpha. It seemed to me like he runs a tight ship. The other Hales I met both smelled prosperous and happy. I, uh, I can give you a play-by-play of my time with him, if you want? I think he mentioned you several times, but I was too drunk to realize who he was, and when he talked about losing a mate, I assumed his mate had died. Only, now, when I think back on it, some things he said only make sense if he was talking about someone still alive. You want me to tell you?”

“Yes, please,” Dick answers, barely above a whisper.

“Would you kits mind doing that somewhere else? I need to clean up my mess,” Marlon bids them.

Dean isn’t deluding himself. Even if Marlon insists he’s fine, he’s not. But Dick’s the one in greatest need of care now, so Dean takes him to his room, pulls down the murphy bed and lies down, holding Dick while he talks. Dick rarely cuts in, and, when he does, it's only to ask questions about Peter’s tone, his scent or body language when he said something. The rest of the time Dick lies with his nose still pressed to Dean's skin, taking one deep inhale after another of the scent of his long lost mate. 

Dean tries his best to remember every little detail, narrating from the moment he first spotted Peter in the Sanctuary and onward. “...He said he loves his current mates, but it was a love that grew slowly with time. It wasn’t like that with his first mate, the one he lost. He said he loved him...you, passionately above all else, but strong forces tried to keep you apart. He said he was young and foolish enough to let it happen, to believe he’d be betraying his pack if he didn’t. He said he regrets not listening to his dad, who’d told him to forsake the pack and follow his heart. He said he thinks of you often. He wonders what you’re doing, and comforts himself with the thought that you’re in a better place now. He wishes he could talk to you, and he hopes you could forgive him for being young and stupid.”

"He said all that?"

"Yeah…"

"I think of him more often than I'd like to admit," Dick confesses. "Every time I visit the slums, I fear running into him because I don't know how it would make me feel."

"You still angry at him?"

Dick's quiet in a thoughtful manner for a while. "I've talked about him with my therapist. Having one mate kill your other mates… It’s not something you easily shake. But it might have ended the other way around, and, I'm certain, I would have reacted the same way if I'd found Peter dead at Toivo’s feet.” He pauses as if he’s thinking very carefully of what to say. “My therapist… she asked me what was going on in the Hale pack at the time all this went down. I realised I have no idea. I know Peter was afraid of Malicia, and Laurent might have been too. Or maybe Laurent was just afraid of what would happen to his pack if he died with her in the lead…? It’s hard to say. But I don’t know anything about their day-to-day doings, or what hardships the Hales were facing at the time. Both of them, Peter and Laurent, stuck by me when I was dying from grief. I think… I think Peter must have been as traumatized by everything as I was. When I was younger, I used to think that was just because so many Hales died that day. But now?” Dick sighs. “This pack bond we all have… It’s as strong as any mating bond. My bond to you and Marlon…sometimes it feels like a physical thing, so strong I can almost touch it. There’s this compulsion to see you pleased. It’s quite interesting and I’ve discussed it many times with Sebastian too. Did I tell you that, when I discovered I had a scent, I went to Sebastian and asked him how to get rid of it?”

“No, you didn’t,” Dean answers in bemusement.

Dick smirks. “Well, I did. He said it could be done. We’d just have to kill you.”

Dean hastily sits up, eyebrows climbing upward in surprise. “_Motherfucker!_”

Dick laughs. “Indeed. I reacted before I could think, ready to slay my longtime friend, a man who has saved my life more than once, at the mere suggestion of hurting you. We barely knew each other at the time, but you were my Main, and the compulsion to defend you was stronger than rational thought. Sebastian was only joking, by the way. He wanted to test the strength of the bond as well as show me that my request was impossible.”

Dean growls and lays down again. “I never liked him. Dunno why Sam’s so smitten with him.”

“He’s a very useful type of person. He’s the type who will fearlessly challenge convention in the name of science. His ability to feel empathy might be limited, but his strive to excel makes him an excellent healer.”

“Whatever,” Dean mutters. “What he’s done for you keeps him off my shitlist, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Dick smiles and presses his nose against Dean’s skin for another deep inhale of Peter. “I think that’s the key to understanding what happened to the Hales during that time. Maybe even what happened between Marlon and Charles. Back then, I knew too little about Packrunning to understand Peter’s dilemma. Perhaps a lot of the behaviour Peter displayed, what I interpreted as lack of care and arrogance, was really a symptom of something else. He told me that nobody could stop him from coming to me, his mate, during my Heats. It never occurred to me that somebody might actually have tried to stop him.” Dick lapses back into an introspective silence, and Dean is content to cuddle for as long as he needs. “I would like…” Dick’s voice is raspy when he uses it again. “I think I would like to talk to him, to Peter. If he’d be willing to be honest with me about all the things he refused to tell me back then. But I don’t think I can do it alone.”

“So… If I were to attempt to negotiate peace between our pack and the Hales, in the hope of being friendly with them… You wouldn’t be mad?”

“Of course not, dear.”

“Alright. In that case, I’ll act as your go-between. I’ll see if I can set up a meeting, and I’ll be there with you the whole time if Peter says yes to a talk.”

“Thank you, dear.” Dick’s scent is another jumble of emotion, but there’s nothing in the mix that makes Dean worried.

“Don’t mention it. It’s what you do for me when Papa and I fight, right? I got your back.” Dean gives him a wink and a grin. “Speaking of Papa, maybe we should go check up on him? We’ve been in here for quite a while now.”

Exactly how long they’d been cooped up had eluded Dean until they leave his room and they can hear voices coming from Marlon’s bedroom. If the boys are back they’ve been holed away for hours.

“Do you want us to burn our pictures of dad too?” Gabe asks.

“Of course not,” Marlon answers, then with his next breath, sounding much more stressed, he says, “No, son, leave it. I made the mess, I should clean it up.”

“_Dad_ made this mess, but he skipped out on the cleanup. Shut up and let me help.” That’s Lucifer’s voice. He sounds angry, and his voice is followed by the cluttery noise of broken furniture being collected.

“Is it okay that I still love him?” Michael asks softly.

“Of course, son. He was a bad mate, that doesn’t make him a bad dad. I don’t want to take away your love for him. I love him too. I just… I just…”

Gabe and Mike both start purring soothingly as a little sniffle escapes Marlon. Dick and Dean have both stopped in the corridor to eavesdrop.

“It’s bullshit," Luci mutters.

"I'm sorry, son. Maybe I'm just overreacting?"

"No! You're not! You think me and Mikey don't remember? Some of my most confusing kithood memories make sense now. You, smelling of guilt and anxiety, dad and you barely talking at times, but always smiling at us and telling us everything's fine when it wasn't. You were the adults. I thought you knew everything, so I believed you even if my nose was telling me a different story. It's no wonder I grew up expecting rejection when I met an O worthy of attention. That's what I kept smelling on a daily basis," Luci rants.

"Son―"

"Don't _son_ me!" Luci yells. "I'm angry. But the person I'm angry at is inconveniently dead. Just leave me alone. And quit the guilt crap you’re doing now." There is the sound of something heavy rapidly moving over the bed. When Luci speaks next he’s on the other side of the room and is no longer yelling. “Father, out of everyone in this room, you’re the one hurting the most right now. That’s what’s making me angry. Not the photos you’ve destroyed, not the less than flattering image of dad you’re presenting. But I’m not Dick. I can’t go all zen and psycho-mumbo-jumbo forth all the right words. So, please. Let me do my rage-cleaning while you talk with my brothers. We’re all adults. We get that it’s possible for a person to be smart, charming, and nice to their kits but _still_ treat their mate like shit. We’ve already heard you tell us about many, _many_ good times you had with dad. Now let’s hear the flipside. We’re old enough to get the uncut edition.”

“He’s right, Father,” Mike says. “Talk to us.”

Gabe murrs his agreement.

Dick grabs Dean by the arm and pulls him back, taking him back down the corridor. “Come on, dear. Let the boys have their moment in peace. They’ll be the most affected by it anyway.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Dean answers with one last hesitant backwards glance as the sound of Luci’s ‘rage-cleaning’ starts up again.

They go to the kitchen upstairs and throw together a meal from the things stocked there. “You really think Chuck was emotionally abusive?” Dean asks after a moment of silence filled only by the noise of jars opening, cheeses being cut and the microwave humming.

“Oh, certainly. Marlon and I have spent a lot of time talking when he’s not teaching me to navigate the political arena. I’ve concluded that he must have been, even if Marlon refused to acknowledge it. That’s not to say Marlon never countered with similar behaviour. He _is_ a very manipulative man. But through all our talks, even when I managed to coax him into admitting that things Chuck did were hurtful, he’s never allowed himself to be angry at Chuck. Every time his own temper exploded, he viewed it as a failure. And Chuck fed into that doubt, giving Marlon the cold shoulder until he came crawling back in defeat.”

“Wow, okay, yeah. That ain’t gonna solve any issues.”

“Certainly not.” Dick leans into Dean to take another close whiff of Peter before taking his plate out of the microwave. “But, just because Marlon is finally admitting to himself he has problems caused by his previous relationship, don’t expect him to suddenly change.”

“Yeah, no. If he can stow his jealousy, that’d be enough. I liked telling him everything. I fully expected him to blow a fuse today. He didn’t. Well, he did, but, you know, not like I was afraid he would. I―" Dean's phone rings so he stops talking to answer, even though he doesn’t recognise the number. “Dean, speaking.”

“Hello, pretty, little Omega.”

“Sash! Are you alright? Is Raff alright? Is anyone hurt?”

Sasha rumbles a soothing purr. “We are all well. We’ve eliminated the threat. Your mate is good. He even make his first kill.”

"You couldn't stop them from getting to him?"

"_Eyy_. He is good, strong Alpha," Sasha answers in annoyance. "He demand to take part in raid. I'm not stopping Alpha defending his pack, if you get what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah, yeah. He's not hurt, though? Are you? How 'bout Ketch?"

Sasha chuckles. "Ey, Ketch!" He rattles off a harangue in Russian. Dean can't hear the answer, but it makes Sasha laugh. "Everyone is fine. Now Ketch is smug that pretty, little Omega make care for him."

Dean rolls his eyes. It's not like he actually _cares_ about Ketch. The guy's an ass. But Dean knows him, and he helped defend Dean's pack. "Whatever. How many dead?"

"Five."

"You haven't burned them, have you?"

"No."

"Good," Dean says darkly. "Chop them up and tell the team driving home to toss out the parts along the way. And if any of your men want to send a prayer to the gods of the underworld, I ain't gonna say anything about it, okay?"

Sasha mutters indiscernibly. "I will tell them,” he answers with a displeased tone. "I give you full report when we come home, yeah?"

"Fair enough. Is Raff nearby? Can I talk to him?"

Dean talks to Raff for a couple of minutes. Raff's gagging to go into detail about his first real combat experience, but they both know not to talk too openly over the phone. He's still feeling the rush of adrenaline, both excited and shaken. Dean asks to speak to Sasha before hanging up, then orders Sasha to make sure there's someone there for Raff if he should crash. "Eyy. Is not my first cub I bring to battle," he scoffs, offended. 

Dean chuckles and says goodbye with a kissy noise. When he hangs up, he finds Dick looking at him oddly. "What?" Dean asks.

"Nothing, dear. You're just so sweet it's difficult to imagine you giving orders to block someone from a peaceful afterlife."

"Dude. These guys conspired to kill my pack and undermine the power of all Packrunners." Dick's still looking at him with that strange expression and Dean feels obliged to go on. "Look, anyone threatens my pack? I'm gonna turn into a knight of hell. You know that compulsion you were talking about? I feel it too, right? Like, a compulsion to keep my pack safe and happy? It's instinct. And, you can bet your ass I’m gonna be vindictive as hell if someone plans to stab us in the back. Those fuckers were religious extremists, so the best way to punish them is to keep them from their god forever.”

Dick hums. “I see.”

“Oh, and did you overhear? Raff made his first kill. He seemed fine, but I’d appreciate if you’d stand ready to, what did Luci call it? Go all zen and psycho-mumbo-jumbo on him.” Dean grins and winks.

Dick chuckles and bends his neck in acceptance. “Naturally, dear.”

Later in the evening, Gabe pops his head into Dick’s room to inform them dinner is ready. The mood at the table is high, with no hint of the emotional shitstorm from earlier. When Raff comes home, Dick whisks him away while Dean goes down to sit in the car with Sasha for a while to get a full briefing. When he comes back up again, Gabe’s gone to visit Sam to spend the night, and Mike and Luci have cooped themselves up in Mike’s room, looking in old photo albums, talking with low voices and smelling emotional. Dean asks if they want company and is politely told they’d prefer to be alone.

Dean goes in search of Marlon to find him in the bedroom he trashed earlier. 

“Woah… I barely recognise it in here,” Dean says and looks around in wonder. The bedframe still looks a bit abused, but the bed has a new mattress and bedding. The furniture that Marlon had trashed is replaced. There are two large, new pictures framed on the wall. Both are from the day the whole pack (except Marlon) got their makeup done professionally and went to a photo studio together. One of them is a group photo. The other, currently hanging where Chuck’s photo used to hang, is a portrait of Dean.

“Luci is an effective cleaner when he wants to be. As for the rest, money makes the world turn,” Marlon answers tiredly. He lies, still half-dressed, atop the blankets with his hands laced together over his belly, looking at the picture of Dean. Then he turns his head to smile at the real man. "Is Richard alright?"

"Yeah. He was just a bit overwhelmed. He's with Raff now, making sure Raff's okay. Did you hear? He insisted on joining when Sasha's crew struck. Sasha said he did a good job, and he made his first kill. Seemed to take it fairly well too."

Marlon looks pleased. "Glad to hear it." He pats the bed. "Will you join me?"

Dean grins and takes Marlon up on his invitation. He crawls on top of the bed and lies down on his side, hooking a leg and an arm over his mate. "How did the boys take it?"

Marlon sighs and scoots closer. "Better than expected, I suppose. Luci is angry and Mike sad. I never realized how different their memories of their kithood are. But hearing them talk, they grew up in different worlds simply because of their different sense of smell. Gabe, on the other hand, was the least affected by what had me so distraught, but the worst off by seeing me so torn up."

"Yeah, but Gabe never got to meet his dad.” He tucks his nose against the gland behind Marlon’s ear. “Dick said he's certain Chuck loved you to the full extent of his capacity to love. So, I don't think you need to doubt that, despite any bullshit he pulled. And you can stow the whole guilt thing about choosing to be abused and manipulated. Dick and I talked about bond compulsion. We know how much it takes to get wanderlust. The only bond stronger than a mating bond is the bond to your Main and Patriarch. Chuck held both your mating and Main bonds. So, short of him killing Aiden, I don't think you could have gotten wanderlust. You didn’t have a choice."

"So you're saying you think I should just drop it? Forgive and forget?"

"No. That's not what I'm saying. I can't tell you what to feel. Go see a therapist. Or milk Dick and Carter for all their education and talents are worth. If you feel like a bad mate because of your previous relationship, it's worth poking at. Now, _I_ don't think you're a bad mate. I'd prefer you tell me that you're apprehensive about letting me meet certain people instead of pretending to be too busy to take me to see them. But, we're a work in progress, right?"

"We are," Marlon agrees.

"Besides, when one stubborn-ass idiot gets mated to another stubborn-ass idiot, there's bound to be a few bumps in the road, right?"

Marlon chuckles. "I suppose.”

Dean nuzzles him. “I promised Dick I’d act as a go-between to see if he and Peter can get some sort of friendly closure. I also intend to restore the friendship between the packs, so, when I have a kit, he or she is gonna be free to play with their kits with no secrecy.”

“That might lead to a political nightmare. It’s not an ideal situation when the corruption is out on full display,” Marlon states with a peaceful little smile, trailing his fingers along Dean’s arm.

“Yeah. I get that. So you got your job cut out for you, huh?” Dean gives him a shit-eating grin.

Marlon smirks. “I guess I’ll just mark that down as one of the bumps in our road.”

Dean leans over Marlon to mouth at his throat, then lick at the gland behind the ear. He's rewarded with goosebumps and a shiver. "Strap in, baby, cuz I'm about to take us offroading," he husks jokingly, making Marlon snigger and grab his ass to press them together, indicating that he might be up for something that doesn't entail talking.

It's funny how everyone has had some form of emotional upheaval today, and, still, at the end of the day, there's someone in the pack to give everyone the support they need. Dean has no doubt that if he'd make a round in the middle of the night he'd find Raff and Dick spooning, purring in their sleep. Mike and Luci will smell of sex, and sleep wrapped around each other, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, chest to chest with not an inch to spare between them. In the Omega house on campus, Sam will be sleeping with a loose grip on Gabe's dick while Gabe's tail thumps against the mattress, the two of them making Sam's roommate Jessica awkward.

It's what pack is all about. Come hell or high water, you face it together and fall asleep with a sense of peace, knowing you're never alone.

* * *


End file.
